


Bruda

by Sylvester7



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Cliffhangers, Death, Developing Relationship, Epic Battles, F/M, Father Figures, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Isolation, Long, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Multiple Storylines, Plot Twists, Slow Build, Some Fluff, Some Romance, Winterfell, converging, pretty much everyone, starts in Meereen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 47
Words: 221,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvester7/pseuds/Sylvester7
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen faces more uprisings with each day in Meereen as the Sons of Harpy attempt to overthrow her. With enemies both living and dead slowly closing in on her, it seems only a mysterious warlock can be the one to help her reach her destiny. But is he all that he seems? Follow the characters you love in a story with a little bit more magic...





	1. Beginnings and an End

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there,  
> This is my first work that I've posted. Ever since I started Game of Thrones, I've had this concept in my head but wondered where the story would start. I decided to begin it during the first battle with the Sons of Harpy in season 5, and it will progress from there.  
> I'm putting the first chapter out to see what sort of response it gets. I hope you enjoy the read, your watch now begins.

Countless members of the Unsullied had already fallen. The attack had taken them completely by surprise, a disadvantage that had proved fatal for so many. Their bodies littered the floor, their blood joining together to form a twisted river that flowed into the drains. The Sons of Harpy had taken a heavy hit too, their lack of proper skill being their undoing. They thrived in chaos and the narrow alley was in pure disarray. Another Unsullied fell, his throat being slit as he plunged his spear into the back of another enemy. Grey Worm was surrounded; he had proven the toughest to take down, their leader showing a dogged resilience in the face of death.  _ Not today  _ he thought, as an image of Missandei of Naath flashed across his mind. He quickly took out two opponents, with one swing of his spear, already coated in the hot blood of men. Yet they just kept coming and he began to take the occasional hit, a slice across the back of his knee temporarily bringing him to the rocky floor.

  Ser Barristan Selmy had arrived at this point, stabbing one Harpy in the back and taking another down with a laceration across the stomach. His numerous years on the Kingsguard had brought him the earned reputation of being a masterful swordsman, and he showed his talent by taking out three more of the savages in quick succession. But his issue was his numerous years, his reactions slowed down ever so slightly yet this had a large cost. One Harpy managed to catch him across the back of his hand, the dreadful sting and welling up of blood distracting him, allowing another to drive their knife slightly into his front. The knight tumbled to his knees and looked over to his compatriot, in the same predicament, as he felt the looming shadow of death surely envelope him.

  There came a bright flash of searing blue light, blinding everyone as it surged through the alleyway, knocking the fighters down to the floor. A hooded figure stood at the entrance, clutching on to what seemed like a metallic staff with a blue energy like thick wisps of fire placed in the top. His face was shadowed by the hood so Selmy could not make out who this mysterious figure was. One man clad with a golden mask, covered in specks of blood, charged towards the person, but a swift swing of the staff took him out from behind his legs, causing him to fall heavily to the floor on his broken back. The mask was removed, almost with what seemed as care, before the tip of the staff was gently placed on the surface of his skin. The energy swarmed around the body, the alleyway now filled with the screams of the soon to be dead, taking apart his skin piece by piece until all that was left was a steaming husk of bones. 

  The rebel fighters, seeing their comrade fall in such a gruesome way, attempted to flee. Barristan swiped at the legs of one, bringing him down with ease. The figure simply raised the staff and the light soared through the air once again. The Harpies dropped. Their simultaneous thud as they hit the ground resonated over the tight location, echoing with an occasional, sickening crunch of bone. Selmy was still on the ground and placed a hand against his stomach, seeing the crimson fluid taint his fingers as he inspected the wound. As he slowly lost consciousness, his vision fading to a blur, his potential saviour stepped towards him and crouched down to his level, removing his cloaks hood to reveal his haggard face.

  “Who….are you?” the knight sputtered as everything went black.

 

                                                                                                       **********

  The small boat slowly made its way along the calm water, drifting peacefully along with the quiet. Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island sat at the back of the vessel, controlling its direction as he observed their surroundings. He had now known exile twice; once when he fled Westeros all those years ago, and, more recently, after being banished by his queen for betraying her. His  _ khaleesi _ . Since then, he had stumbled through the world, clumsily, without any proper aim. The way she had looked at him, as if she hardly knew him anymore had broken him even more than he had expected. His pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but be proud of the woman, the ruler, she had become compared to that tiny, meagre girl he had initially met. Another ruler would have had him executed on the spot - by letting him leave, was she hinting that she still cared for him? It was a thought that both gave him hope and haunted him.

  After that day, his wanderings had led him to Pentos, where he whiled away his hours in brothels, never touching what was so blatantly on display, just drinking away his misery. Every drop seemed to take him one step further from the heartbreak. It had been a long time since he’d been able to enjoy the bitter taste of ale, although enjoyment was the last thing he felt. It was in one of these brothels where he had spotted his redemption. It hadn’t been difficult apprehending him to say the least, and he had immediately set sail with renewed vigour and hope.

  His redemption was beginning to stir. Tyrion Lannister woke up with an almighty pounding within his skull. It took him a good few moments to get a bearing on things, the grogginess from the brief first encounter with his captur leaving his usually wise brain a little slow. He first noticed the crystal blue water surrounding him.  _ Was he drowning? No _ ….no he was on a boat. A pathetic little dingy really. He looked towards his companion and was met with impassive cold blue eyes, giving away nothing about his plans. He recognised those eyes.  _ Blue...cold...snow...North.  _ He attempted to get up but then realised both his legs and arms had been bound by thick rope. The old man obviously wasn’t wary of a fight ensuing, probably just apprehensive of him wriggling away.  _ At least his size had some benefits _ , he thought to himself.

  Though he doubted he’d have any opportunity to get away. Despite those eyes being firmly focused on evaluating the landscape, Tyrion knew they were still acknowledging of him. And it wasn’t like there was anything else to distract him, wherever they were. It was quiet. Silent. He hadn’t known this level of peace since being trapped in that fucking box, although he realised that wasn’t that long ago. He again looked towards his new associate and got the same lack of interest as before. This was going to be a dull journey.

  “You know,” he started “it’s going to be a very long journey that we’re going on. We may as well talk to each other to pass the time.” Nothing. He got nothing in response. No words, no movement, no recognition that he had said anything. At least Varys was somewhat entertaining at times. He was beginning to miss the eunuch. He once again looked across the water. He didn’t recognise where they were, which was surprising since they were obviously heading for Kings Landing and his sister.

  “Do you expect my sister to reward you handsomely for my return? She’ll be happy of course but the whole bounty on my head thing is just a ploy. My family are in quite a lot of debt, to put it lightly - they can’t afford to pay you, even if they wanted to. I’d suggest we head back, I much prefer my head where it currently is.”

  Tyrion’s ramblings had done enough to finally get a reaction from Jorah. He seemed confused about what he had said.  _ He’s not a simpleton, is he?  _ Tyrion questioned. He didn’t want to be stuck sailing with an idiot; he’d end up killing them both out of mercy.

   “I’m not taking you to the Lannisters,” Mormont replied “I told you, I’m taking you to the Queen. The True Queen, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons.”

  That surprised the imp. Maybe he wouldn’t be dying any time soon, although he had heard tales of her dragons. He’d make a nice snack for them, he presumed fearfully. But then who was this man that was working for her. She was in Meereen, quite a bit away from where he had been kidnapped. Then it clicked.

  “I thought I recognised those eyes! Old man, obviously Westerosi in origin, wandering around the Eastern lands. Clearly loyal to this Targaryen girl. I’ve heard stories about you, Jorah Mormont. The forgotten man, chased out of the mainland, betraying your own family. Yet you found yourself in good company again, helping her rise up in the world. What are the Dothraki like, by the way? Always been interested….sorry, off topic.” He glanced at the old bear; there was emotion there now. Sadness, deep in his eyes. “Yet you’re not with her. You don’t sound like the sort of man who would just leave her side. So you were made to. By her, of course, you’d listen to no one else. You messed up again…”.

  It was at this point that Jorah’s lip slowly turned into a snarl. He was about to knock the irritant out when his eyes caught the approaching ruins. Tyrion followed his eyeline and his own widened in disbelief.

  “Valyria,” he whispered. The once great city still looked magnificent in its desolate state. He’d grown up with stories about the grandeur of the thriving metropolis and the gargantuan dragons it had homed. The size of it was impressive, obviously a wonder when it had been alive. He thought of his home and how that would look turned to ash. It’d probably improve the stench. He remembered a poem about the Doom of Valyria and started mumbling it to himself.

  "They held each other close and turned their backs upon the end.

   The hills that split asunder and the black that ate the skies;

   The flames that shot so high and hot that even dragons burned;

   Would never be the final sights that fell upon their eyes.”

  “A fly upon a wall, the waves the sea wind whipped and churned —

   The city of a thousand years, and all that men had learned;

   The Doom consumed it all alike, and neither of them turned," Jorah finished. He smiled sadly at Tyrion, who was pleasantly surprised that the disgraced knight knew the tale too. As they drifted closer to the stone ruins, Jorah swore he saw something move slightly on one of the buildings. He was now apprehensive as they approached. Only one group now lived in this graveyard of culture. The silence from before seemed to be amplified as they sailed past the first building and under the archway. Jorah placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for what was to come. Tyrion was now highly aware that his extremities were bound in rope.

  A splash to their right signalled the beginning of the attack. Two more quickly followed, as Tyrion scrambled towards the centre of the boat.

  “Stone men!” Jorah shouted as he unsheathed his sword, swinging it quickly to take out one of the approaching enemies. One made it onto the boat before he plunged the metal through the heart of it, sending it to a watery grave. It was mercy on his part, they were no longer men, hadn’t been for many years by the looks of it.

  “Untie me!” Tyrion screeched, crawling away from one. Jorah took it out but was too preoccupied to stop to deal with the Lannister. A stone man grabbed the rope that held Tyrion and began to pull. Try as he might, it was just too strong for him, and he soon fell off the edge of the boat, plunging into the water below.

                                                                                                         **********

  The snow was falling heavily around the Northern outpost. Castle Black stood defiant next to the Wall, the first line of defence against the oncoming storm. The storm they used to fight, the one they had just finished fighting, was the wildlings but the few that had survived the battle now lived in close quarters with their ‘enemies’. A new storm was approaching, Jon knew, but he had to weather the final winds of this one first. 

  Jon Snow trudged on through the snow and mud as he approached the room that held Mance. Stannis, after he had saved them from defeat, had offered the leader of the Wildlings the option of bending the knee or dying. Jon knew what the realistic outcome was but he still felt that he should at least try to save him. He had grown fond of the surly old man, in awe of the talent he held to bring together so many Northern tribes in a united front. That sort of diplomacy would be crucial if they were to win the war against the dead.

  He knocked on the wooden door as he arrived. It opened quite quickly and was surprised to find that Rayder wasn’t alone. Ser Davos Seaworth stood by the door and gave Jon a brief nod of the head. He hadn’t spoken much with Stannis’s Hand but he seemed competent enough. He mentally planned to have a discussion with him when the time was available, it’d be good to know who you were working with.

  “May I speak to him alone?” Jon asked. Any attempts to persuade Mance would be made more difficult with any other people present.

  “If I may be so bold, Snow,” Davos responded, his Scottish accent thick compared to Jon’s Northern brogue “I’d like to stay an’ watch. Act as a representative of Stannis, he wants unity as much as you and I do.”

  Jon just gave a nod to the request and the ex-smuggler moved to stand in the corner, not wanting to get in the bastard’s way. Jon turned his attention to his main target. Mance hadn’t paid any notice to the entrance of Jon, which didn’t come as a surprise. Rayder was an unassuming king, especially compared to the ones he had known that ruled in the south. He guessed that was the difference between the two regions - one liked to live a life of luxury, whereas the other worked to get the job done. He didn’t speak much but, when he did, he didn’t mince his words, wanting to get straight to the point, and this occasion was no different.

  “I know why you’re ‘ere,” he grumbled “and I know why you’re doing it. I appreciate you carin’ so much about ma fate but you have better things to be doing.”

  “We both could be working together to accomplish these better things. You know what’s out there, that’s why you brought together the Free Folk. You understood that they couldn’t survive what’s to come, well they won’t be able to survive if you die.”. Jon argued in response, expecting a rebuke that eventually came.

  “They’ll have you once I’m gone,”

  “I’m not one of them - why would they listen to me?”

  “There’s somethin’ about ya lad that encourages me. You care about em, us. That makes you a fuckin’ darn sight better than most southerners.”. At that, he looked over at Davos, who glared back, prompting a small smirk to form on Rayder’s face.

  “Be that as it may, I’m not you. I’m not the one who brought together over 90 tribes, something that has never been done before. We need you, Wildlings and men alike, to take on this Winter. Just...bend the knee to Stannis and then we can move on and prepare our next course of action”.

  “No.” came the blunt reply.

  Jon was beginning to get annoyed at the lack of progress he was making. He was pacing along the length of a table, wondering what he could do to save the situation.

  “Why? Why can’t you do this one thing, to save your people. Only you can convince the Free Folk to leave their homes before it’s too late. If you don’t do this, all those people will die. Men. Women. Children. So why won’t you? Is it pride?”.

  At that, Mance interrupted - “Fuck ma pride!” he bellowed, “It ain’t got nuthin to do with ma pride. Us free folk don’t see any reason to have one person being o’er mighty than everyone else. We don’t make people bend t’others. So I won’t do it for a fuckin’ southerner either. I know you mean well kid but you’re fighting a losin’ battle”.

  “I think i should interrupt here fellas,” murmured Davos, who had slowly approached the two bickering men, “I thought this might be an issue so I discussed it with Stannis beforehand. He’s willing, on good faith, to accept you won’t see him as your king. What he still wants is you to bend the knee.”. Before Mance could argue, Davos plowed on. “Ah, before you complain, it won’t mean anything. It’ll just be a signal of alliance between us two groups of people, and an agreement that you will allow your people to fight on behalf of the rightful king Stannis Baratheon when he requires them to do so.”. With that, Davos stopped and waited for Mance’s reply. The silence seemed to last an age as it echoed around the cold room. After an eternity, Mance nodded. 

  “I’ll have to explain the goin’s on to ma people so they understand what’s going on.”

  “That’s perfectly reasonable,” answered Davos, who shared a mightily relieved look with Jon as they preceded to exit the room. Once they were outside, cloaks now billowing in the icy wind, Jon couldn’t help but send a wry smile towards the sailor.

  “You’re one hell of a hand, Ser Davos.”

  “Aye,” came the short response, as Davos returned the grin, “and you’d better remember it.”

                                                                                                                **********

  Cersei Lannister stood on her balcony, looking over her city below. Because it was truly her city. She worked behind the scenes, so often the puppet master. Joffrey had been a much more difficult animal to tame but he had been poached from the world too soon, dying in her arms as his skin blistered and purpled. Tommen was much more malleable, her claws sinking into him as soon as he was on the throne. Yet that Margaery had come along and seen the potential for influence too, and had outmaneuvered her quite admirably. That meant that one of her puppet strings was slowly becoming frayed, and the rising of the Faith of the Seven threatened to cleanly snap the other.

   Then she had to deal with the growing threat of Dorne. That stupid wench Ellaria had taken Oberyn’s death to heart, even though it had been his own foolishness that had got him killed.  _ You didn’t see her agonising over the death of her guard, the Mountain, did you? _ she thought irritably. Yet she knew her precious Myrcella remained in Dorne, and that meant trouble. She knew the Dornish, when they weren’t whoring around, they loved to seek vengeance, and her daughter made the perfect target. At times, she wondered how her father had coped with spinning all these plates. Another thing on her mind, the death of the great lion, Tywin Lannister, shot dead by her brother, although she believed that they couldn’t be related.  _ Surely. _

  As she moved to the table, she looked over at her guest. Her brother, Jaime. Her love, the one true constant in her life that made all the pain worth it. Yet his eyes looked hollow, lacking their usual gleam. He looked tired. He had returned to her a different man, half the man really with his missing hand. 

  “We need to get Myrcella,” she began, taking a sip of wine as she spoke, “she can’t stay in that vulgar place any longer. Our family is being torn apart by forces within our ranks and outside, we need to be together more than ever.”

  Jaime looked at his sister. She had changed in the time that had passed since he’d been with her. More cynical, more bloodthirsty. She was like a caged animal, striking at anything that came close, and she was being continuously poked and prodded. “Don’t you think I know that?” he replied, frustrated at the situation they found themselves in. 

  “Then what do you say is our next option?”

  “I’ll send a ship for Myrcella. Put some of my best men onboard, it should be enough. Say that her mother wants to see her. She can even bring that Dornish prince she’s with if she has any objections.”

  “You won’t go get her yourself? You’re her father!”

  “You said it yourself, we need to be together right now. But…”

  Cersei had stood from her desk and strolled over to the man in the centre of her room. She grabbed his good hand and moved it to hold her face. She locked eyes with him and moved in for the kiss when...he abruptly moved away from her. He sidestepped her attempts to pull him back, putting distance between the two of them.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she questioned frantically. Of all the things that were going wrong in their lives, she banked on their relationship not falling apart. This couldn’t be what it seemed like.

  “I...can’t. We can’t...be doing this...anymore,” he whispered, tears beginning to form in his eyes, “you’ve said it yourself Cersei. The Faith are circling in, they want blood. If they catch wind of anything happening in this city, they’re on it without a second thought. That High Sparrow is delusional in his beliefs but his beliefs are incredibly strong. He won’t stop till the city is in his control. And what would stick out more like a sore fucking thumb than us two? The fucking incestuous siblings, fucking one another in the Keep overlooking the city. We’re not safe anymore.”

  Cersei couldn’t quite fathom what he was saying. Her own tears began to well up at the corner of her eyes but she thought them back. She was losing everything but she would not let slip her pride and dignity.

  “Then what do we do? How do we go on from this position?”

  “I’m going to leave. Now. Explain it all to Tommen, will you? He wouldn’t understand my leaving.”

  “You can’t leave!” Her anger was beginning to spill over. “You can’t leave me! Who do I have here? Father’s dead. Clegane is dead. Joffrey is dead. Tommen is slipping away from me. The only people here are circling around me, waiting to pounce the moment I show any sign of weakness. You can’t leave.” She ended on a whisper as her facade slowly fell but, as Jaime failed to give a meaningful response, her mask was placed back on. “Are you tired of me? Bored? What are you going to do? Travel up through Westeros, visiting every brothel to get your fix. I bet they’ll be able to put your gold hand to good use.”

  Jaime was quite shocked at the outburst, although her anger wasn’t that much of a surprise. “I’m...not sure where I’ll go. Just...away from here. I’m truly sorry Cersei, I hope you understand why I’m doing this at some point.” He edged towards the door, before stopping as a glass smashed against the wall not too far from where his head was. He looked back at his sister and his mournful look was reciprocated with one filled with pure contempt. He didn’t risk worsening the situation by saying anything else, and he exited the room, leaving his family and what remained of his honour behind.

**********


	2. Greetings and Farewells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys has decisions to make, whereas Jon is getting to grips with the new arrangements at Castle Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi,  
> I got a wee bit excited after the decent response from the first chapter so I thought I'd upload the second chapter now! Enjoy

As he reached the surface of the water, Tyrion coughed and spluttered as he greedily took in as much oxygen as he could. He didn’t know how he had survived but he was eternally grateful to whatever gods that had looked down on him kindly. today As he clambered onto the sandy beach without an air of grace, he took stock of all his limbs. _Still there. Still short._ _Still tied._ His clothes were already beginning to dry in the hot sun and, as he lay on his back, soaking it in, his attention was roused by the emergence of another from the water. _He survived_ Tyrion thought, surprised at how glad he was of that fact. Jorah made his way onto the beach, stretching as his feet made contact with land, and then attempting to shake off as much water as possible from his clothes. It was a pointless task but it returned some feeling to his tired bones. All he wanted to do was rest but he knew he was closer to Daenerys now, despite the brief interlude with the stone men.

  “I guess I should be thanking you,” stated Tyrion, a small chuckle dancing on his lips, “you saved me from those beasts. Although I would have been fine if my arms and legs hadn’t been incapacitated at the time”. The small smile that he had initially received from Jorah quickly turned into a scowl and a roll of the eyes.  _ Still as friendly as ever. _

  Tyrion’s eyes widened in alarm as Jorah took out his sword that was still somehow on his person, and closed them as it was swung towards him. Yet the expected brief pain signalling the end of his life never came, and he looked down to see the rope had been cut in two. He shrugged the remnants off and wriggled his arms in an attempt to bring some life back to them. Jorah then shoved him over and repeated the action to the rope binding the dwarf’s legs. As the shock wore off from his unexpected tumble, he quickly regained his composure, sending a glare to the older man, getting a smirk in response.

  “Thank you,” he bit out, bowing mockingly as he spoke, “now, where are we?”

  “We’re past Valyria, thank the gods. Judging from what I can see, I think we’re on the edge of Slaver’s Bay”.

  “And where is your precious queen that you are so wanting me to see?”

  “Meereen. If we had a boat, it’d be a good week’s sail if the wind was in our favour but…”

  “We no longer have the boat. Excellent. You know, if you had chosen to use your words in Pentos instead of brute force, I could have told you that my aim was to meet the Targaryen queen too. Would have stopped all this fiasco.”

  Jorah looked surprised at that but didn’t let it lie too heavily on his conscience. “We can’t undo the past. All we can do is strive to make up for mistakes to ensure the present is much more pleasant.”

  “Is that what you keep telling yourself? That handing me to your queen will earn you forgiveness, respect? My travelling companion, before you took me, was Lord Varys, the Spider, and I know you two have a past.”

  At that, Jorah looked down to the ground, guilt welling up within him. Before he could respond to the claim, Tyrion continued. “I understand that you betrayed her and, if I was advising her the day she discovered your actions, I would have told her to have you executed. A Queen can’t afford disloyalty, especially one that is just beginning to rise in the world. But what I also understand is that she is still living and breathing and, if you had truly betrayed her, that wouldn’t be the case right now. I have faith in you, Jorah Mormont, but what happened to stop you from completing your task?”

  “You’ll realise why when you meet her,” Jorah answered, “she has a charisma that is infectious, how do you think she has won over so many people. You can’t help but fall in love with her…”

  Tyrion’s eyebrows raised at the admission, even more so than Jorah’s as he realised what he had let slip. As they began to walk, the imp looked over at his companion.  _ Pure devotion is a rare commodity nowadays _ he mused silently. “Well then, if that’s the case, then I am excited to meet her. Though we still have the problem of getting to her and then seeing if she’ll actually meet with us.” 

  “Don’t worry about that, I’ve just come up with a solution”. Up ahead, a group of five men were busy preparing a small ship for the water. Jorah had overheard them as they approached talking about the news of the fighting pits being opened again in Meereen. They muttered in excited tones about the prospect of competing, with it now open to all people from around the Bay. That would be his opportunity to regain her faith. 

  “ _ Hello!” _ he shouted at them, in what he suspected was their native language. They looked up at the two newcomers, a truly odd pair walking in the sun. “ _ You talk of the pits.” _ They nodded their heads, unsure as to what this man wanted.  _ “Are you going there?” _ he asked, gesturing with his head towards their boat, and again he was greeted with nods.  _ “Well then, can we sail with you? Our boat just capsized.” _ This time, agreement wasn’t as forthcoming, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. Before he could get closer, he felt a hand gently stopping him and looked down to see Tyrion.

  “Why don’t we try my way, this time?” he muttered, shaking a bag of gold coins as he walked towards the group.

                                                                                                           **********

  The stone temple was grand in size but not decoration. Its large stone walls were a dismal gray and the only thing adorning them was a series of torches, lit to spread some more light into the chamber. Stone steps led up to the main showpiece of the room, a dull, but imposing throne, that currently sat Daenerys Targaryen. She was clad in a fine white dress that accentuated her pale skin. Her long, blonde hair was braided to symbolise the military victories that she had already won. And she had already won so many in such a short space of time. She was no longer that innocent girl that had been traded like cattle to the Dothraki.

  Her usual group of advisors was severely depleted. Both Ser Barristan and Grey Worm lay in critical conditions deep somewhere in the temple, with Missandei attending the latter quite closely. That left Daario Naharis by her side, who leant casually along one of the stone steps. Along the walls, members of the Unsullied that hadn’t been involved in the ambush in the city were lined up, spears held upright by their side. Daenerys had made it an imposing place to visit.

  “Bring him in,” she ordered, prompting two of the guards to exit the room. At this, Daario stood in apprehension of what was to come. Both of them had heard broken tales of what had unfolded in the city, and they both wanted proper answers. Neither Selmy or Grey Worm had been in any fit state to recall the events and so they now turned to the one other survivor.

  The returning marches of the soldiers echoed through the temple and reverberated around the walls of the main chamber room. The two soldiers walked into the room and stood guard at either side of the entrance door. Silence ensued apart from the occasional metallic thud on the stone floor as their guest made his way to them. He eventually came into view, his metal staff landing in rhythm with his steps. He walked towards the bottom of the steps, and gave a brief nod to Daenerys, who was sat impatiently on the throne. To her, he looked incredibly tatty. His cloak was nothing special, a murky brown colour that followed wafting in his wake. He had no pins on his person, no sign of any allegiances to other houses. He had long, messy brown hair and a beard to match. Yet she could still make out his clear, green eyes that were scanning his surroundings. The staff that he held seemed to be made of pure metal and at the top, it spindled off into curved fibres like a prism, holding a blue energy that swirled constantly.

Daario took a step forwards and pronounced “You are in the presence of  Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons. You may approach.”

  Daenerys noted that he didn’t seem remotely bothered or impressed by her many titles and she didn’t know whether this pleased or angered her. He responded with a simple hello; his accent was broad, definitely Westerosi in origin and she wondered why he was here in Meereen then. She tried to gloss over the fact that he failed to greet her with any respect, or acknowledgement of her position of power.

  “What is your name, ser?” she questioned, speaking for the first time to him.

  He chuckled lightly at that. “Please don’t flatter me, your Grace. I am as far from a ser as you can possibly get.” She smirked at that comment, his lack of censorship with his words entertaining her. “My name is Warlock Bruda, at your service, but you can just call me Bruda, if that pleases you.” She swore he winked at her as he finished his sentence.  _ How very entertaining indeed. _

  “It seems that I owe you a great deal of gratitude. The two men who are still alive are only alive because of you, or so I am told”

  “It wasn’t much really. I heard the commotion whilst I was walking along the street. It’s common knowledge of what those bastards have been doing recently. It was the least I could do, and I wanted to show off a bit. Haven’t been able to properly in a while.”

  “And why is that? Oh, and how did you defeat so many of the people that killed my men with relative ease?”

  “Uh...I’ve been a bit of a recluse lately. For a few years actually. Can’t be doing with people really, they’re often incredibly dull and I have better things to be doing. And to answer your second question, I’m a warlock, as I said before.” As he finished his sentence, he gestured to his staff, lifting it slightly. The torches around the room dimmed as he did so, prompting the Dragon Queen to look around in fascination but also worry. She had dealt with warlocks before. It hadn’t registered before when he first said it but now she was remembering her past dalliances with magic.

  Before she could carry on the conversation, two more soldiers walked in. They were followed by a plump, bald man, dressed in fine silk robes. As he tentatively walked towards the steps, and stood next to Bruda, he bowed deeply in front of the queen. He then straightened, his arms still held together in the sleeves of his robe. Standing next to the warlock, he couldn’t have looked more different; two people from different classes of society it seemed, although they were probably more similar than they let on. Daenerys looked questioningly at Daario, who shrugged in response.

  “Two visitors at once. Today must be a special occasion,” she spoke, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

  “Your Grace, if I may, I am Lord Varys, master of whispers of Kings Landing. Although I presume that title has recently been revoked with my hasty departure.”

  “And why did you leave? If you betrayed the Lannisters there, then surely I can’t trust to speak with you either.”

  “It’s more complicated than betrayal, your Grace. I’ve heard many stories about you from my little birds and, my, they have been chirping feverently. You have done things that many daren’t believe and yet I see the truth of your fire just looking at you now. My job has always been to serve the realm and the Lannisters, or what remains of them at least, are a poison on its people. The realm needs you, Daenerys Targaryen.” For the first time since he arrived, Varys looked over at the other man in attendance by his side. His querying glance was met with a toothy smile.

  “What remains of them?” Daenerys asked, picking up on something Varys had said.

  “Yes, your Grace. Tywin Lannister, the head of the House who held them together was shot dead. By his own son. He was actually my travel companion, I intended for him to meet you before he suddenly disappeared when we stopped in Pentos.”

  “You thought I would want to meet a man who killed his own father?”

  “He would be a useful tool for you in your quest for the throne. You need people with a knowledge of Westeros if you are to not just take it, but also rule over it. Dragons are a ferocious weapon, anyone will accept that, but they are not adept at the art of politics. Myself and Tyrion are and that’s why…”

   He was interrupted by the arrival of Missandei, coming through the door behind Daenerys and Daario. She had tears in her eyes, which immediately concerned the woman on the throne. As she asked what was wrong, Missandei fought to keep her emotions in check.

  “I tried, my Queen. But his wounds were too great and too numerous to heal properly in time. Grey Worm is dead.” With that, she quickly turned on her heels and exited the way she had come just before. The chamber was left in a stunned silence. Daario looked over at his lover, fear of what this news would do to her. Her eyes were wet and she turned her head away from the two visitors so that they would not see her in a state of weakness. As she regained her composure, it was Bruda who spoke up.

  “I am truly sorry for your loss, your Grace. I feel like it is in part my fault, if I had arrived sooner then maybe he would have stood more of a chance.”

  “And yet you didn’t,” she growled, her mood turning dark with the bad news. He bowed his head at that but attempted to carry on.

  “You’ll understand that I did all I could. If one of them survives, it will be a triumph.”

  “No, you will understand, that I do not have fond memories of the warlocks I have met. And yet you stroll in here and ask for what? A place in my counsel?”

  “I came here only to help you. You can only judge me on my actions, not on what others have done in the past.”

  “They took my dragons,” she whispered spitefully, “how do I know that you don’t seek the same thing? You just appeared here, playing the part of the hero, and you expect me to swoon over you.”

  “So you do judge me because of what I am.,” He let out a hollow laugh at that. “It’s good to see that prejudice still survives in the supposed city of the free.”

  That was the final straw for Daenerys. “I cannot keep you here when I don’t know your motives. But I cannot let you leave either.” That last bit made Bruda look around in alarm but he allowed the wo soldiers to grab hold of him by the shoulders when they were ordered to do so. “Take his staff,” she added, which they promptly did, before they led him away to one of the cells beneath the temple. As he was escorted out, she stood from her chair and turned to leave, beckoning Daario and Varys to follow her, aiming to create a plan to rectify their problems.

                                                                                                             **********

  Daenerys stormed into her room, closely followed by Daario and Varys. Hizdahr Zo Loraq stood in the corner, alarmed by the abrupt entrance of the small group of people. Daenerys paid him no attention. All the progress she had made here in Meereen was falling apart around her. Members of the city, most probably the slave owners who had lost out the most since her arrival, were in uprising against her. They had already claimed the life of a number of good men, including the leader of the Unsullied. Someone she had seen something precious in. He had embodied the work she strived to accomplish and now he was gone. Like a puff of smoke in the wind. Barristan was still fighting; the fact that he was could only be a positive. Then her mind drifted to the man she had just imprisoned. Bruda seemed nice enough, he had obviously saved Selmy from certain death. But why did he want to work for her? She would have to see his magic in person to begin to trust him. He was far from her main concern though at the moment.

  “How can this be happening? How are the Harpies able to cause such havoc in my city?”

  “The fact remains that this is not your city. The lords will not accept it,” Hizdahr replied, handing her a glass of wine that he had poured himself. Varys eyed it suspiciously.

  “No lords will stop me. I have freed the people, they should be happy!” she shouted, frustration getting the better of her. She sat down and swirled the drink in her hand.

  “They are happy. Of course they are. But it’s a shock to the system. Their way of life has been completely changed,” Daario added. Sometimes he felt that she was blinded by her endeavour to right all wrongs, not fully understanding the implications.

  “I changed their lives for the better. How can they not see that?”

  “Maybe if you offered something in return? To symbolise that you still acknowledge their past,” Hizdahr put forward. Daenerys knew straight away what he was proposing but the fighting pits went against everything she believed in. 

  “I can’t open the pits. They are barbaric. A waste of life.” she argued, once again. She was tired of going around in circles with him, although he was beginning to wear her down. With a sigh, she looked over at Varys, who had been silent since entering the room. She gathered she hadn’t made the best first impression by imprisoning a man who had helped her. “And what do you suggest I do, Lord Varys?”

  He seemed taken aback by being involved so soon after coming into her company. “The merits of opening the pits outweigh the negatives, I’m sorry to say. But you now need to be focusing your energy on getting to Westeros, that has to be your main goal now. By opening the pits, you can then prepare to leave Meereen on a good note, with the people singing your praise. Reputation is everything in this world. Other cities will not allow a ruler in if they are deemed to have ruined what they have already conquered.” He paused for a moment, noticing her gently nod along to what he was saying. “Then I’d say we sail to Braavos. You can’t take Westeros without the support of the Iron Bank. You’ll need to show them the merits to your claim to the throne, which will undoubtedly involve your dragons.”

  “I cannot control my dragons. Two are in chains and the other is gliding across the world where I can’t see him.”

  “Be that as it may, you’ll have plenty of time to rectify the situation on our journey there. Before we head there though, you may think it wise to get back into contact with the Dothraki.” At that, she visibly prickled, straightening in her chair. He held up a hand to stop her argument. “You need as many men as you can get and the Dothraki count as double. They are savages and Westerosi knights don’t normally fight savages. Any advantage you can get, you need to take.”

  She saw the merit in what he said. Looking over at Daario, she asked him what he thought.

  “I agree with him.” Varys bowed his head at that. “Meereen is not your place, you have to move on.”

  “And what if my work here gets undone?” she queried.

  “Then once you have the throne, you can come back and implement your will with more force. Or you could leave someone here in your stead to look over the city.” She mentally chose the second option for now and had already picked who would be staying.

  Standing up, she gestured towards the Meereenese lord. “Send the notice out: the fighting pits will be reopened. To everyone. Anyone can sign up and seek this  _ honour _ , as you call it. Whilst you do that, I think it’s time I started planning my next steps. The throne will soon be mine.” With that, she asked them all to leave her in private and they all bowed before leaving, Varys making sure to take the glass of wine on his way out.

                                                                                                                  **********

  Jon and Davos walked together, high on their recent success. As they made their way into the courtyard, they noticed Stannis in discussion with Melisandre. Davos still didn’t trust the Red Priestess, mainly after seeing her birth a shadow all that time ago. Jon had only got curious glances from her so far; she unnerved him whenever she was near him. Stannis turned to acknowledge their arrival.

  “So?” he bluntly asked.

  “He agreed my lord,” Davos replied “not without fighting back against us of course. But Jon here got the job done.” Jon looked at the older man then, feeling the swell of pride within him as he was praised. 

  “Is that so? I’m impressed Snow. You’ll be useful when I’m king, which is why I’ve got a proposal for you. I received a raven from a Lyanna Mormont.” Jon nodded his head at that, he had heard a few stories of the young bear, who scared grown men with her feisty words. “She says that Bear Island knows only one King in the North, and that’s a Stark.” He growled that last piece of information. Jon was worried he’d have him killed right there. “So I’m willing to legitimise your name and make you Lord of Winterfell….if you help me take it back from the Boltons.”

   Jon was surprised at this turn of events; Davos’s small smile told him that he had already been informed of this choice. But he knew that would require the wildlings’ cooperation if they had any chance of taking back his home, and he worried that using them so soon would sour already tense relations. “I’ve taken the Black, my lord, I can’t leave the Night’s Watch,” he murmured.

  It was Melisandre who responded. “Ramsay Bolton has your sister, Sansa.” That got Jon’s attention. He hadn’t seen her since they were all at Winterfell. So much had changed since that day, everything was all so innocent when he looked back. Jon feared of the condition she was in, especially after her short time with Joffrey Lannister.

  “I’ll speak with Mance and some of the Free Folk. I’ll try to convince them to help, I might be able to get some members of the Watch as well if I’m lucky. But I need to focus on getting the Wildlings past the Wall first. Once that’s done, I’m yours. I’m not bothered about ma name, but if it comes with victory, then I’ll take it. If you’d please, I was on ma way to see someone.” After Stannis nodded his agreement, Jon and Davos continued to make their way through the yard.

  “Why did you tell Stannis I convinced Mance? It was you who got him to agree,” Jon questioned the Scot.

  “Stannis has already accepted me into his close circle of advisers. I don’t need or require anymore recognition for the time being. But any positive work done by you, shows him that you can be trusted. And that makes my life much easier.”

  They eventually reached the room that housed Jon’s best friend, Samwell Tarly. His knock on the wooden door was greeted with a frantic “come in!” and, as the two men stepped inside, they were both alarmed at the state of the room. Books and clothes were strewn haphazardly over the room. Within the mess, Sam was bent over near a trunk, in which he was putting some books. Gilly was stood in the corner, cradling little Sam.

  “What’s going on?” asked Jon, perplexed at his friends erratic behaviour.

  “I’m…leaving,” Sam hesitantly replied, “Maester Targaryen passed away just now, I’ve told Edd to sort the burning out. He told me though, what to do, who to find. I’m going to the Citadel, with Gilly.” he smiled at her as he said that. Jon was hurt at the news. “I’m no use to you here, Jon. We both know that. What I can do is study everything that people have written about the White Walkers, maybe I can find something that will help defeat them.”

  Jon wanted to argue with him but he knew he couldn’t against the sound logic. He smiled sadly at his friend and walked up to him, giving him a hug after Sam stood up. The two stayed like that for a few moments, before breaking apart rather sheepishly. Sam closed the lid of his trunk after putting the last book in and prepared to leave. Davos gave him a pat on the back, pretty much the first time they had interacted, and he opened the door, letting the cold come into the room.

  Outside, a horse and cart had been readied. Jon helped them put their belongings in the back of the cart, standing back as Davos gave Gilly a hand with climbing aboard. Sam turned once more, wishing them both good luck, which was reciprocated, and soon, the cart left through the gates of Castle Black, heading south.

**********

  
  



	3. Departures and Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime gets a new travel companion, Jon begins planning and Jorah gets one step closer to his queen

Jaime made his way into the bustling street of Kings Landing, hiding his face from the people. The public tended to despise the ones who languished in the Red Keep whilst they struggled to make a living. His head down, he began to walk, his destination the city gates and then... _who knows._ He noticed that at the end of every street corner stood a member of the Militant Faith. They had infected the city, their eyes always watching, waiting. That’s why he had to leave; he wanted to be able to live his life. He had been imprisoned once before, he would not be caged again. Although he truly doubted whether he deserved to live a free life.

  Walking past the carts and stalls that littered the cobbled streets, he took in the mundane lives of the commoners. He often wondered what his life would have been like if he had not been born a Lannister. Yet he felt that, given the choice, he would still choose a life of royalty and luxury, even if it had cost him his soul. He drank in the frantic goings on around him, as life played out its course. The journey he was going on would leave him without human interaction for long periods of time so he took advantage of this semblance of normality.

  Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice the man approach him. Despite the large, bustling crowd, the figure knew exactly who he had seen. _That hint of gold gives you away you stupid cunt_ he thought. He grabbed a hold of Jaime’s shoulder, who turned quickly in panic, thinking Cersei had sent someone to stop him leaving. Before he could shout out, Bronn put his hand over the Lannister’s mouth, before directing him to a secluded alleyway. Lacking the touch of sunlight, the isolated corner starved them both of warmth. But they wouldn’t be seen by the Faith for now.

  “You’re looking proper shifty, if I do say so myself,” Bronn began, releasing Jaime from his hold. Jaime rolled his eyes in annoyance at his friend. Associate. He didn’t really know what Bronn was to him. A nuisance right now, that was for sure. When he failed to respond to the comment, the sellsword continued. “If you ask me, I think somebody doesn’t want to be seen. That’s not usual behaviour for a fuckin’ Lannister.” He gave a sharp smile with that, prompting Jaime to finally speak up.

  “Of course I don’t want to be seen. But you dragging me over here will entice curious eyes”

  “Well then, you best get telling me why you don’t want to be seen, so that our little conversation goes unnoticed from _curious eyes_.”

  Jaime sighed. Bronn was a stubborn bugger at times. “I’m leaving.”

  “Aye, I gathered that much. But without an escort? How will you defend yourself if you face a bunch of assailants? You’re not what you used to be.”

  “I can still hold a sword. Your worry for me is heartening but, if you please…” he moved in the hope that the other man would let him past. _Like that was ever going to happen_. Bronn stood in front of the exit, a condescending smirk on his lips.

  “Why ya leaving?” he asked suspiciously. If there was gold involved, he wanted in on this adventure.

  “You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? The Faith, tightening their grips on the city. That High Sparrow is becoming more smug by the day. Soon the Keep will fall, and I’ve done some things they wouldn’t particularly like.”

  “Ah, makes sense now. Ya fleeing, ya fuckin’ coward.”

  “So what if I am? Rather be a coward than dead.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Jaime Lannister I know. You’ve fucking messed up, haven’t ya?”

  Jaime nodded his head at that, sorrowful eyes looking down towards the floor. “More than you could imagine. But I like to think there is still something worthwhile within me. That won’t come to light until I’m away from here.”

  “Well that’s understandable. But my point still remains - you don’t have an escort.”

  “No. No….I’m fine. Really.”

  “I’m bored of this place actually. The whores here only have a few tricks, there’s just no fun when there’s no surprises left. You understand.” _He didn’t._ “I think I’ll join ya on your noble quest of self redemption. Where is it that you plan to head?”

  Jaime sighed, it was useless trying to persuade Bronn otherwise now. _Stubborn._ “I haven’t really thought about it. Somewhere North?” he wondered, as they made their way back onto the main street.

  “You? North? That I’d like to see. The cold will have your other fucking hand. But what’s North? The Lannisters aren’t exactly popular folk up there.”

  “The Boltons hold Winterfell. While not exactly allies, they’re not our enemies.”

  “The line between acquaintances and enemies is balanced on a knife edge. You should know that by now.”

  “Do you have any other ideas? Dorne wants Lannister blood, further East you hear stories of dragons and their mother roasting men alive who go against them. The cold is much better than a fire sometimes.”

  “Right then, I’ll get us some horses.” Jaime was confused as to why Bronn didn’t head off at that but then looked down to see his hand opened out flat. Frustrated, he reached into his pockets and produced a few coins, placing them in the waiting hand. “Oh, you’re so kind,” Bronn smirked.

                                                                                                        **********

   When news of Mance’s decision to bend the knee spread around the camp, which didn’t take long at all, the split in opinions across the Wildlings was tangible, and it added to the already tense atmosphere. Night had drawn in and, with it, an icy cold descended on the courtyard. A large circle of people surrounded the waiting Stannis, who had Melisandre stood next to him, as always. They weren’t talking though; Stannis was looking around the camp, occasionally catching the eye of a wildling who would snarl in his direction, whereas Melisandre was staring into the flames of a large fire that had been lit in the hope of bringing some warmth to the area. Jon was off to one side, with Edd on his right and Davos, who Jon noted had taken a liking to him, on his left. He was still worried that Mance would go against his agreement, destroying his chance of uniting the people in the face of coming wars.

  “Stop worrying,” Davos whispered to him. He could see the younger man glancing around nervously, as they waited for Rayder to make an entrance. “We did all we could. If Mance decides to spit in the face of Stannis instead of getting down on one knee, then so be it. You can’t let that hang on your conscience, there’ll be other things to weigh you down soon.”

  Jon just nodded at that, wondering what else he would have to face in the upcoming future. He felt someone squeeze past him and looked down to see Stannis’s daughter walk in front of Davos. In her small cloak, he couldn’t believe how she was coping in the bitter cold this far North.

  “Shireen?” the Scot asked, confused as to what she was doing.

  “I wanted a better look. It’s interesting, isn’t it? This could be in the history books one day.”

  “Aye, that it could.” Davos smiled down at her, enthused by her own energy and excitement, even when the climate was like it was. He had begun to see the young Baratheon as his own daughter, especially with the loss of his son at the Battle of Blackwater. Their bond had grown with her dogged attempts to teach him to read, which he thought was coming along nicely. He looked over towards the balcony and was met with a disapproving gaze from Melyse, Shireen’s mother. He wondered where the blonde girl got her compassion from; she was completely different to the crazed religious fanatic, although he would never say this out loud. Spending time in the Dragonstone cells had been bad enough.

  Before he could contemplate further the strange nature of the Baratheons’ relationship, a silence washed over the crowd. The door to the room that held Mance had swung open, before Tormund Giantsbane, a ginger beast of a man, walked out, closely followed by his leader. Tormund stomped down the steps, eyeing Jon suspiciously before giving him a respectful nod. Rayder made his way down the steps with much less fuss, no ceremony whatsoever. As his feet landed on each wooden panel, the noise echoed as people waited with baited breath. He stopped as he reached Jon.

  “I hope you’re right,” he murmured.

  “So do I,” came the simple reply. Mance seemed settled by that and continued on his way to Stannis, his boots squelching in the mud as he approached. Coming face to face with his counterpart, no words were said. An understanding seemed to be shared between the two men, before Mance slowly went down to one knee. Silence. People stood in shock, astounded that the Wildling king had actually given in. Jon knew what this properly symbolised though. Progression. An alliance. One, he noted, Alliser Thorne, the new Lord Commander, didn’t seem too pleased about.

  A shout was heard coming from someone in the crowd, filled with anguish at this new development. A wildling man, armed with a large axe, charged towards the three people on the middle. Jon didn’t know how to react. He didn’t know who the target was - would it be Mance for acceding to their conqueror or Stannis for conquering them? The axe was swung and Mance quickly got up from the floor, shoving Stannis out of the way. As the axe came down, Rayder’s momentum brought him down on top of the Baratheon but not before the metal went through his right shoulder. His scream of pain rang out across the air. Vengeance was quick to come as Tormund punched the attacker in the face, knocking him to the ground, before he took the axe and sliced through his neck, blood splattering across Tormund’s face. Everyone else stood in shock at the swift and brutal display. Mance was helped up, blood trickling down his arm. As Stannis stood up, he looked over to the rebel king. Rayder eyed him curiously and was then dumbfounded as Stannis too bent down on one knee. This was an unprecedented move and one that had Melisandre looking at him in awe and wonder. _Maybe the God of Light was right after all._

  Jon’s mind, meanwhile, was thinking of the political consequences this could have. It would certainly make an alliance between the Baratheons and Free Folk much easier. _Shireen was right_ Jon thought _this will be remembered as history._

                                                                                                           **********

  A war council of sorts had formed in the largest room Castle Black had to offer. Its centrepiece was a large wooden table, on which plans were being made. Light was trickling in through the windows from the moon hanging above the castle in the night. Torches were hung up on the wall giving some more additional light. Despite the earlier accomplishments, there was still a tense atmosphere within the room. It would take time before they all somewhat got along.

  By the table, stood Stannis and Davos, deep in conversation about tactics in regards to their approach with Winterfell. Mance stood nearby, listening into their conversation but not necessarily taking part. His right shoulder had been covered by a bandage after being cleaned out, the one person with any sort of medical training being able to provide a crude form of stitching. He was busy observing the map on the table. He wanted to know where he was possibly sending his people; they had just come past the Wall and now they were heading further South. He would have been a laughing stock if he had suggested such a proposal a few years, months earlier. Melisandre was slowly walking around the large table - war tactics were not her speciality but she felt that she was required to give any spiritual advice if necessary. She had fully invested in Stannis; if this was the path he was choosing, then she would help him with each step. Commander Thorne stood off to one corner, partially covered by shadow. He cut a sullen figure, obviously distressed and angered by the arrival of so many more people. It wasn’t just that they were coming from beyond the Wall, something no other Commander had let happen (Jeor Mormont would be rolling in his grave if he had one), but the fact that the castle’s supplies were quickly dwindling - they hardly had enough to last a year just for the Night’s Watch. The sooner the Baratheon army was back south, and the wildlings wherever they intended to go, the better.

  In one corner of the room, stood Jon and Tormund. The ginger wildling had been staring at Jon for a while, his blue eyes piercing into Jon’s brown ones. It was unnerving him greatly and he kept looking away, wanting to get into discussion with the others about their next steps.

  “You’re a strange one, Crow,” he finally muttered.

  “Thanks...I think.”

  “You’re not like everyone else. You want us here,” his deep, raspy voice cutting straight to the point.

  “It’s not a matter of wanting your people here. It’s about saving people. As many as I can, which is why I needed Mance to agree.”

  “Aye. I told him to do it.”

  “You..did?”

  “Of course I did! I’ve seen things, Crow. Things that fuckin’ scare even me. What I know is that I have a chance of defending myself. But there’s women and children out there. Those dead bastards will pick em off with ease.”

  “I know. So I need your help with getting them past the wall. I don’t know what they’re like. I’ve only had a few experiences with them. They’ll listen to you. They need to know that, once this is all over, they’ll have the opportunity to live here.”

  “If this ever ends,” Tormund bitterly added. His hair seemed more crazed recently; he much preferred the proper North. “I’ll help ya. But only because you’re growing on me.” A bark of laughter erupted from his mouth as he patted Jon hard on the bark. He then stalked over to Mance to relay what had just been discussed. But now was the time to talk together, to plan what their priorities were.

  Stannis noted that Jon had moved towards the table and so presumed they could start properly. He beckoned Melisandre over, who moved obediently to his side. “The Boltons are suspected to have around 6000 men, in and around Winterfell. They might be able to call for more from the smaller Northern houses. We currently have up to 3000 men and, with Winterfell pretty much an impenetrable fortress, the odds are not in our favour.”

  Jon was confused at this. “My lord, I was under the impression that your plans were being stalled whilst we focused on helping the Free Folk.” Mance shared his apprehensive look.

  “With each passing day, the Boltons grow stronger, whilst my men grow weaker. They have better supplies than us. We can’t last much longer.”

  Davos spoke up. “I feel like we need to head Snow’s words, my Lord. The dead are coming.” That sent a chill throughout the room.

  “I wouldn’t think that we would need a lot of men,” Jon added, wary of Stannis’s dark expression as the conversation derailed from what he wanted. “It would be an extraction. We’d need boats of course but you wouldn’t be using them. We could do this whilst you and your men make your way to Winterfell.”

  “How many men do you have?” Stannis directed the question at Mance this time.

  “In fighting condition? You’re looking at 2000, 2500, if we can get the men that are still north of the Wall.” That got a nod from Stannis. That might be enough if they got their tactics right.

  “And what about the Night’s Watch?” he asked Thorne, who was yet to speak up.

  “We’re a small group. Less than 170. But they will be staying here. Whatever plan you choose”. Stannis had expected no different but it was good to see where he stood with the Lord Commander. It would be an extra element to contend with when he became king.

  “I’ll allow you to go on your expedition, Snow. The Lord of Light has spoken with the Priestess and has spoken of the Great War. But know that my war is my main concern. Once it is over, I’ll decide whether or not to support you.”

  “That’s very gracious, my lord,” Jon said. He realised that people like Stannis still didn’t truly believe such a threat was coming until they saw it in person, when it would be too late. But the fact that he still contemplated helping was a promising sign.

  “I’ll take my men further south. Ser Davos has highlighted a strategic place for a camp, in the shelter of the mountains. Will mean that, if the Boltons go on the aggressive, they can only attack from one direction. Whilst we’re gone, any people you manage to bring back can stay here.”

  Thorne bristled at that. “They will not! Our food stocks are already stretched thin enough as it is!” he barked.

  “And who are you to defy what I say? I’ve made my decision. I hope this is satisfactory with the rest of you?”

  Mance gave a firm nod of the head, as did Jon when he saw the older man agree. With that, the first meeting of Castle Black between the men and wildlings had finished. And Jon now could begin preparing to leave for the North.

                                                                                                           **********

  The boat gently bashed against the wall of the dock, as they were tied to one of the metal hooks available. They thanked the men that had got them there and then disembarked from the vessel, Tyrion having slightly more difficulty than his companion. The port of Meereen was a grand place, bustling busily with numerous people from all over the land. It was a melting pot of culture as people traded with one another. Jorah purposefully ignored some of the dodgier dealings as he focused now on his next mission. Daenerys was so close. But how would she react to seeing the old knight? As they walked further along the port, their attention became directed towards the large pyramid that dominated the skyline of the city. It was a grand feat of construction and it was an imposing beast compared to the rest of the area.

   “So that’s where she is?” Tyrion asked. Jorah looked down and gave him a nod. He could tell that the Northerner was more worried than he let on, probably concerned with how the dragon queen would react to his reappearance. He hoped that his arrival at the same time might distract her enough to quell any ferocity, although a dragon’s bite was a substantial force to be reckoned with.

  Making their way into the city proper, Jorah noticed crude posters occasionally adorning stone walls. They were what the people were talking about, the only gossip that was worth anything besides the occurrence of Harpies. The posters detailed the opening of the fighting pits and where one would have to go to have a chance of fighting for the Queen’s approval. Smaller fights were being held in Meereen’s numerous arenas and the victors of those fights would then get the opportunity to battle in the Great Pit of Daznak. Jorah realised that, by just entering the first stage, he would get to see his khaleesi again, although he then would need to make sure he won the battle. And he’d undoubtedly have to protect Tyrion, despite the tales he had been regaled with about his victories at the Blackwater.

  Tyrion had come up alongside Jorah and followed his eyeline towards the poster. “No,” he immediately said. “There’s got to be another way.” He knew though that the other man had already forged the idea. “I hope this woman is worth it.”


	4. Preparation and Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boltons receive some troubling news, Jorah finally gets to see Daenerys again and the Northern expedition begins

Winterfell had lost all its charm since the Boltons’ arrival. It was a much darker place now. Maybe it had something to do with the encroaching winter, or maybe it was all down to their cold grasp leaving a mark on the castle. In the courtyard, numerous soldiers were huddled together, trying to keep as much warmth by being in close proximity. Winterfell was a ruin but the ground provided them with a good source of heat; people didn’t know how, despite the embrace of Winter, the hot springs in and around the area kept going. They didn’t question such a blessing.

  In the room that the head Bolton had commandeered for his main base of operations, stood that very man. Roose Bolton was of average height but was still an imposing figure. His deep, commanding voice made lesser men quake when they earned an audience with him. He was currently stood in front of a roaring fire, looking into its flames to see if any answers came to him. The fall of the Lannisters with the death of Tywin had left him in a vulnerable position, one that could be exploited if any of the previously Stark-loyal bannermen turned against him. At this point, they had had no reason to disobey them; he had ensured enough fear was put in them to keep them loyal. He had been attempting to teach this skillful art of diplomacy to his bastard son, Ramsay, for a number of weeks but he was often too preoccupied to listen.  _ It’ll get him killed one day _ he bitterly thought. He contemplated if that would be the worst thing to happen. 

  The man in question was also stood in the room with him, looking out through the window at the land they now owned. Conquest had fed his ego well but he had an insatiable appetite. He longed for the chance to win another battle, being holed up in one place after such a victory was beginning to become extremely, painfully dull. It was one of the main reasons why he had enjoyed so much torturing Reek. To have another man, if you could even call him that anymore, bend to your will without question gave him a rush of power that he greatly enjoyed.

  Both of their musings were broken as the new maester knocked on the door. He stepped in when told to do so. “A raven just arrived, my Lord.” He handed the note, still with its seal on, to Roose before shuffling to the back of the room.

  “You may leave,” barked the older Bolton, receiving a quick nod and then the sound of frantic footsteps. He broke the seal and then read its contents, his dour expression getting darker with each word it seemed. When he was finished reading, Ramsay sent him a curious glance. Roose chucked the piece of paper into the fire before answering.

  “A warning. From the new commander of the Night’s Watch. Stannis Baratheon seems to have taken a new approach after his naval disaster. He’s holed up at Castle Black, and intends to siege Winterfell from our grasps.” Ramsay smirked at this. The conflict he so dearly wanted was on its way. “And that’s not even the main thing. He’s resorted to an alliance with people from beyond the wall, someone called Mance Rayder, who claims to have united most of the tribes. He also has won the favour of Eddard Stark’s bastard child, Jon Snow.”

  That news made the smile on Ramsay’s face grow. Oh, he’d love to slay a few of those savages. And then that illegitimate fraud. “Then let them do so father. We’ll meet them on the battlefield and make them wish they never stood against us.”

  “And why would we meet them on a battlefield?” his father questioned, disappointed in the boy’s lack of military knowledge. “We have a fortress that, if defended properly, is nye on impossible to get into. No sane commander would leave such a tactically beneficial base.”

  “But there is no glory in that!” Ramsay was incredulous at his father’s lack of fire. “This is an opportunity to show the rest of Westeros what we aim to do to those who oppose us.”

  “You are my son. I don’t doubt that.” Ramsay smiled, surprised at the sudden reassurance but that quickly disappeared with the next sentence. “But you are not my military advisor. The bannermen need to be kept by our side, the likes of Umber and Karstark. Sending their men out needlessly will only serve to spark an uprising which would end with our heads on spikes. And I’d make sure yours would be the first to go.”

  Ramsay contemplated continuing the argument but instead opted to stalk out of the room, slamming the door behind him.  _ He may act as though he is a man  _ Roose thought  _ but he is till just a petulant child at heart. _

  The young Bolton stormed towards his quarters, intent on taking his anger out on his latest prize. When his father had told him he would be marrying, he had expected some fat, ugly piece of meat for him to produce his own heirs. Instead, he had been pleasantly surprised to see Sansa Stark; young, beautiful, with long, red hair, he thought she was perfect. To play with, that was. Although they were yet to be married, he presumed he could still have some fun if he wanted to.

  She was set on his bed, playing the role that was expected of her - the obedient girl who would never question her betters. She flinched slightly as the door swung open, before composing herself as  _ her love  _ strolled in, a sadistic smile on his face. Between him and Joffrey, her time with men had not been a fruitful one. But her resilience had grown greatly; she was no longer that stupid, little girl who had dreamed of being a princess. No, she was going to be a  _ ruler. _

  Ramsey tutted as he circled her. “Your brother is being very naughty”

  Sansa hadn’t expected to hear about her half brother. In truth, she hadn’t had chance to think about him since her departure to Kings Landing. Although she had never truly been close to him, possibly because of her mum’s apparent hatred towards him, but she did miss him now. Her silence as she thought about her family past prompted Ramsay to continue.

  “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

  “Of course not, my love,” she answered truthfully.

  “Good, good,” he leaned closer towards her. “Because I would be greatly displeased if you were going behind my back.”

  “I would never do that. Jon isn’t even my brother. I have no business with him. My loyalties are with you.” She hoped that he failed to register the slight hitch in her voice as she spoke. He looked at her for a few seconds, and she felt that she had slipped up. But then a smile went across his face.

  “Then everything is fine. Just how I want it to be.” He looked her up and down. “You’re looking a little dirty, my love. Why don’t I order you a bath to be run, let you relax for a bit. Winterfell isn’t the most pleasant of places.”

  “That would be nice,” hoping that this pleasantness was genuine.

  “I’ll get Reek to help you. I’m sure he’d love to….” His smirk belied his intentions but, before she could plead with him, he was gone from the room. She sat in silence for a second, stopping a tear from rolling down her cheek.  _ I have to get out of here. _

**********

  The small fighting pit was nothing spectacular to look at. A relatively large semi circle of sand sat in front of a small wooden stage that was draped in red curtains to protect the watchers from the searing heat. There wasn’t any room for a public audience, this was solely for a private party. That fact concerned Daenerys, as her mind drifted to the prospect of past lords putting on their own fights, watching their own slaves fight to the death for their  _ entertainment _ . She suspected that the reward for winning was a continued existence, if you could call being a slave a worthwhile existence. She was still against the idea of watching people in brutal combat but Varys had advised her to attend.  _ When the people see that you accept and partake in their interests and culture, then you will be endeared to them  _ he had said. She didn’t have an argument for that. She was tired of being under the constant threat of the Harpies; if this went someway to reducing the potency and frequency of their attacks, then she would grin and bear it. She also reassured herself somewhat that at least the people who would fight today would be doing so of their own volition.  _ But are they just slaves to what history has told them they should be?  _ she wondered. She couldn’t reverse her decision now - that would probably make the situation even worse.

  Daenerys was currently sat on the largest chair provided, placed in the middle of the stage. It was incredibly uncomfortable but she put on a brave face to please the few lords that were in attendance. She had invited them out of good will, an attempt to thaw their icy relationship. But it angered her that some of the men around her could be behind the attacks. Retribution would have to wait for now. A hand was placed on her shoulder, and she looked up to see Daario checking whether she was okay. Her thoughts had left her in a rigid position but Daario just expected it was down to the upcoming spectacle. When she gave him a reassuring smile, he sat back down in the chair closest to her. Varys remained stood off to one side, no expression displayed on his face.  _ This is just a distraction  _ he mentally sighed  _ there are other things we need to be focusing on. _ On the opposite side of the stage was Missandei, who was still grief-stricken after the recent loss of Grey Worm. Although they had not had many moments alone, she had cared greatly for the warrior. She only wished that he had found peace after such a difficult life. Her glum expression matched those of the rest of the group, a polar opposite to the jovial laughter coming from the lords. Daenerys tapped impatiently against the arm of the chair. Hopefully it would be a short fight.

  Jorah looked through the only window provided in the small waiting room. She was there. And after even all this time apart, she hadn’t changed. She still looked the same, still held herself in that composed manner of a Queen. He didn’t particularly like how close Daario was to her but he couldn’t complain. He had lost the right to stand by her; he would fight to win back that honour. The room had a rancid stench of sweat and mud. You could tell that it had only been used for slaves in the past. The only luxury was the bench that Tyrion was sitting on, his legs just scraping the ground as anxiously eyed the other four men there. A few of them had snarled at him once or twice, presuming he would be the easy target when they all got out into the pit. He looked between them and Jorah; quite a few were a lot larger than the Bear, and also a lot younger. He worried that in his attempts to win back Daenerys, he had been blinded from the realities of life. He was an old knight, probably knew how to fight, but would he be able to match the athleticism of those currently eyeing them up?

  A great big mountain of a man stomped into the room. A hush descended on the group. He gestured to the group of four men who were sat closest to the door and then pointed to the entrance to the pit. They got up immediately and barged each other until they were through the door. Jorah was concerned that he had missed his opportunity. He couldn’t let it pass him by so easily.

  Daenerys perked up as four men clad in shoddy armour proudly walked along the centre of the arena, lining up in front of the stage. They each bowed at her and then stood, expectantly. She creased her eyebrows, wondering why they weren’t getting on with it.

  “Clap your hands,” Hizdahr whispered to her, quickly leaning into her from his position, where he had been talking to the other lords.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You need to clap your hands. To show that you accept them to fight for you.”

  “Oh...right.” She did so, and the men moved to get into position. They quickly split up into pairs, their individual battles ready to begin. One man, a muscular specimen with short hair, charged at his opponent, wielding a dirty sword. His eagerness was his downfall though. The other man, more nimble than the brute, sidestepped the onrushing attacker, tripping him up with his leg and spear. The larger man’s momentum sent him tumbling, as he twisted to try and right himself. Landing on his back, before he could get back up, his throat was sliced by a dagger the other had got out from somewhere in his pants. He stood a moment, watching the blood trickle down the neck as his life left his eyes. That was until he felt an agonising pain, looking down to his chest to see the point of a sword protruding out. One of the other fighters had seen the opportunity and had taken it to devastating effect.

  Jorah watched as Daenerys flinched at the brutality. If he could take down the other two without killing them, she would hopefully respect his skill and lack of blood lust. “I need to get out there,” he said quietly to Tyrion as he stepped over towards him.

  “No way. You weren’t chosen yet. It isn’t worth you getting beaten to a bloody pulp.”

  “It might be my only chance.” Jorah was resolute. He put a helmet on that was on the bench and, before the guard could question what he was doing, he smashed him in the face with the hilt of his sword, knocking him unconscious. He walked outside, keeping the sword close to his side as he approached the two remaining fighters. 

  Daenerys wasn’t expecting another fighter to emerge into the pit and it seemed that the organisers weren’t either, but they had been easily shrugged aside by the newcomer. She watched as he interrupted the current fight, taking out one of the men quickly with a short jab to the face. He then faced off the remaining opponent, parrying a burst of attacks with his longsword. 

  Jorah was waiting patiently as the other man flaunted flamboyantly. He was trying to impose himself on the Mormont knight, attempting to appear the stronger of the two. Jorah wasn’t at all bothered by the tactics and, getting past one swing of a sword, he tripped the man over and pierced him to the ground through his left arm with the spear the other fighter had dropped when he had been beaten. He looked up to the stage and saw Daenerys looking towards him, a pleasant smile on her face, impressed with how easily he had won without the need to kill anyone. The organiser of the event looked around, anxious about what had just played out before he walked over to Jorah and raised his arm in the air.

  “And what is the name of the man that has the honour of fighting again in the Great Pit of Daznak?”

  Jorah was now incredibly nervous, not knowing what sort of reaction he would get. He slowly lifted his helmet, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He’d gladly fight 100 men than see her anger directed at him. Yet he eventually mustered the confidence to look up, and his worst fears came true. The look she gave, one initially of surprise, turned to disgust and hatred. 

  “What are you doing here?” Her tone was low and dangerous. “I ordered you to leave this city and never return. I remember specifically telling you what the consequences would be if you did.” Jorah again bent his head, sorrow filling him, but before he could respond, they were interrupted by the arrival of Tyrion, who had thought now was the time to save the bear from the full force of the dragon’s ire. 

  “He came because of me, your grace,” he said loudly. He enjoyed the way Varys’s eyes widened in brief shock before he regained his composure. Daenerys looked at him, far from impressed.

  “And who might you be? Why are you so important that he went against my orders?”

  “My name is Tyrion Lannister.” She glanced over to Varys, who nodded his head in confirmation.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you. My new friend here has spoken at great length of your capabilities, your apparent way with words.” He smiled gratefully at the compliment. “If that is the case, use those words to convince me to not have him executed right now.” Jorah’s head sprung up at that, alarmed at how callus her voice was.

  Tyrion paced for a moment, wondering where to begin. “I have had the misfortune of being captured by Mormont.”  _ Not the best start  _ thought Jorah. “And I have now been in his company more than I would have preferred.”  _ Was he trying to get him killed?  _ “Of all our time on our journey, it sickened my how much he spoke of you, when he actually chose to talk that is. I know that he betrayed you, and that can’t go unpunished, but I don’t think I have seen any other man so truly devoted to someone as Jorah Mormont is to you. I have come to grow fond of him, maybe just because of the lack of other company. He may be old,”  _ hurtful,  _ “sour”  _ I am not,  _ “and sometimes a great bore,”  _ that’s just not fair,  _ “but I wonder if you will find anyone more loyal to serve you.”

  Daenerys didn’t respond immediately as she contemplated his words. “You’re right,” she finally said, giving Jorah hope. “He did betray me. And did not inform me of his crime until I forced it out of him. That certainly goes against your comments about any loyalty he has for me.”

  “He loves you!” Tyrion shouted, a last throw of the dice. That caught her off guard, and she took time to search his blue eyes questioningly. Although he would not admit that fact, she could see the truth in his eyes. Her composure faltered slightly as she came to terms with this revelation. 

  “Even if that is the case, I can’t accept him back. Not now at least.” She beckoned over two soldiers. “Take him away and lock him up under the temple. I’m sure he’ll get along with those already there just fine. Then maybe I can determine properly the extent of his loyalty.” The soldiers walked over to the despairing knight who gave himself up willingly, and they slowly marched him away. “As for you,” she directed this at Tyrion, “I believe we have a lot to discuss. What better time to begin than the present?”

  He nodded his head and walked with the group as they made their way back to the temple, sending a wry smile and a wink to Varys.

**********

  Jorah was marched along a dark, narrow corridor, a soldier either side of him. Although Daenerys had reacted with disdain to his arrival, and she now knew about his feelings, he still had a bit of hope. He wasn’t dead. His head was still firmly on his shoulders. That fact alone was the only thing keeping him going as he was forced further into the heart of the pyramid. The air was musty, with the only light coming from a few dim torches in need of relighting. His sword had been taken off him pretty much straight away; he didn’t like how unprotected he now felt. If the guards wished so, they could kill him here and no one would know. Daenerys wouldn’t be too fussed about the  _ accidental  _ death of her betrayer.

  He was made to stop at a wooden door. A slit was in the middle of it, most probably used to communicate with whoever was inside and pass through whatever food they were allowed to have. One of the soldiers produced a large, rusted key and inserted it into the lock. As the door was slowly pulled open, a booming voice could be heard from within the darkness.

  “About time!”

  Bruda had been sat in the cell for nearly three days now. He had been beginning to regret his decision to help the new queen. This was why he didn't get involved. People just didn’t understand him. His powers. What he wanted. Frankly, what he wanted was a bit of company. It had grown lonely and tiresome all those years travelling around by himself. He had left Westeros a couple of decades ago and had not returned. It wasn’t the time yet. But that moment was fast approaching. If he survived this current predicament. 

  He had hoped that of all the people to understand him, the Dragon Queen would have the best chances. He knew that his fate was entwined with her. And yet she had thrown him in a cell. And the conversation had started so pleasantly as well. It was incredibly frustrating. So when he heard footsteps approaching the tiny room he was holed up in, he had expected the Targaryen to be coming to discuss matters more thoroughly. Not a dejected looking man in armour. And Jorah had not been expecting anyone else to be imprisoned with him.

  They both gave each other curious stares as Jorah was pushed in, the door slamming shut moments after. The knight remained standing and so the warlock got to his feet, extending his hand in greeting. Jorah tentatively took it.

  “Bruda,” the mage spoke gruffly.

  “Jorah,” came the reply. When he heard the name, Bruda’s eyes widened slightly but Jorah couldn’t see that in the dark. Jorah thought that the other man (he didn’t know how old he actually was) didn’t seem to be too menacing so he was curious as to why he had found himself locked up. Bruda, apparently, had the some question.

  “What did you to get yourself in here?”

  Initially put off by the bluntness of the question, Jorah realised that, right now, his only option to avoid going insane was to talk with him. “I tried to use my position with the queen to get back my freedom in Westeros. Went behind her back. She obviously didn’t like that but she sent me away, didn’t kill me for some reason. I returned because I’m a fool so here I am.”

   “I’m sure she’ll come around. She seems a bit fiery that one, for good reason I guess. But I bet she’ll forgive you. Like you said, you’re not dead. That can only be a positive, Mormont.”

  “How did you…?”

  “Your eyes. I know them. Bear Island is a fucking cold place. No wonder you chose this climate.”

  The response seemed too practiced, too rehearsed, which unnerved Jorah but he couldn’t help but laugh a little at his comment. But if he started reminiscing about his past, then he would lose focus on his present situation.

  “Why are you here, then?” Jorah asked.

  “Are you hungry?” This change of subject perplexed the knight. He couldn’t help but think that he was though. He hadn’t had a proper meal since Pentos. He nodded but wondered what good dreaming of food would do now. 

  Bruda reached behind him. Jorah made out a faint glow coming from where his hand was and was then astounded to see a bread roll appear with a small plate of meats and cheese, along with a flagon of what smelt like ale. It was heavenly. But he was apprehensive to take any.  _ Magic _ . He thought back to Qarth and how Pyat Pree had tortured Daenerys. It now made sense as to why Bruda was down here. 

  “I wouldn’t want to poison you. Them soldiers don’t visit too often so I’d be left with your rotting carcass for a while. No thank you. Take some, eat. You and Daenerys have had an encounter with warlocks before?”

  “Aye,” he answered, whilst ripping some of the bread off. “Back in Qarth. One tried to take her dragons, got burnt to a crisp.”

  “She mentioned that. Not the burning to a crisp part, which isn’t good for my confidence. We’re going to be here a while. I need you to understand that I am not like them. For one thing, I’m a lot older. And so wiser. And it would be wise of me not to get on the wrong side of that woman.”

  It was something about the sincerity with that he spoke that made Jorah believe him. He didn’t have much choice but to, really. He gave another nod.

  “Good. Thank you. Now tell me, have you just not noticed it or are you purposefully ignoring it?”. The question was asked as he pointed towards Jorah’s arm. 

  Greyscale.

**********

  The snow was falling hard as they continued to trudge on. They were headed towards the main camp of Wildlings situated by a large lake and surrounded by mountains. It was a difficult trek then, as a result, to get there. But it had to be done. Otherwise the army of the dead would be bolstered once again, and this time by the thousands. The Night King and his followers were unrelenting, never taking time to stop, never taking time to choose their victims. It gave them the advantage over the morality of man.

  Jon was heading the expeditionary group. Tormund was by his side, not speaking much. He wasn’t really a man of words. But men of words wouldn’t last long in this unforgiving wilderness; Jon knew they would likely need his brute force if they were to survive an ambush. Ghost trailed behind the pair, blood red eyes surveying their surroundings. His senses would be crucial in detecting attackers before they gained the upper hand. Walking slightly on his own was Mance; he had taken the decision out of their hands regarding his involvement despite his recent injury. Jon knew that he would be needed to persuade the tribe leaders but he also worried that, if a battle ensued, he would prove to be a fatal liability. Their numbers were mainly made up of free folk fighters. They had hand picked the twenty-or-so men, choosing the largest and most imposing of the lot. This would serve to not only deter the members of the tribes they were meeting to try and fight them but also give them a good chance in the face of a battle.

   Jon held his thick cloak close to his face. The cold seemed to be getting worse, its icy grip slowing taking its hold. He couldn’t believe something could survive here yet, when he looked at his ginger comrade, he seemed to be thriving in the climate. He was observing the large man when he noticed the faint hint of heat. Something that he was dreaming of but surely couldn’t be real. They weren’t close to the camp of the wildlings. Mance had told them that they would all be grouped together as this would give them the best chance of surviving. So why was it then that, as they stopped to look across the snow covered fields, they saw a fire roaring? An orange flame that stood out against the white. And it was surrounded by a huddle of three men.


	5. Setbacks and Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys holds council, Bruda takes action, and reunions take place

 

  “Well, that could have gone better,” sighed Daenerys. She was now back in her council room, overlooking the city of Meereen. She was joined by Daario, who was stood closest to her, Missandei, Varys and their latest recruit, Tyrion. He was currently observing the room, surprised at how easy it had been to get here. He was sure that Varys had given him a good word to the queen; he’d make sure to have a conversation with the Spider when the chance arose.

  “Yet it could have gone a lot worse, your grace,” inputted Varys, “you’ve shown the people that you are willing to encourage their culture. That will only increase when the main battle takes place, in front of the people.”

  “But it has just given me another problem to think about.” She was talking about Jorah, the disgraced knight who had made his way back to her despite her urgences not to. She didn’t know what to make of the older man sometimes. She had been truly disgusted by him after she had found out about his treachery. Yet the man he conspired with was stood advising her right now, and Jorah had definitely proven himself more times than Varys so far. Was she simply scared of becoming close to him again? Especially after the recent revelation. “What would you have me do, Lord Tyrion? You have been with him most recently.”

  “I have already told you what I think. You will face an enormous battle when you reach Westeros, that can’t be doubted. My family will not give up their power and control so easily, even in the face of your dragons. And I’m sure some of the noble families will remember the last time a Targaryen sat on the Throne.”

  “I am not my father,” a hint of anger in her voice.

  “I know that. Everyone in this room knows that. But people out there don’t. They get fed drips of stories and your story could definitely be twisted into something much darker than it actually is. So, a war is the only way you are going to win. And what will improve your chances of surviving is having someone so loyal protecting you.”

  “You believe he’s loyal?”

  “You’re alive.”

  She thought of that for a moment. That point had come up a few times now; despite his initial actions, he had saved her. On multiple occasions. And he had been the one she turned to when she needed advice that she could trust. Why hadn’t she been going to Daario instead? He was apparently her lover, surely that meant she should seek his opinion more? It confused her greatly, which she didn’t need right now with other problems arising constantly.

  “You know I don’t have the fondest of feelings towards Mormont,” started Daario, “but, from what I’ve seen, he would die for you. The reason he came back was because he has nothing left in life to work for. He’s invested in you - he’d gladly take a sword for you if it meant you survived and sat on the throne.”

  “So you want me to use him as a human shield?”

  “I don’t think he’d complain.” Daenerys was hurt by how callous Daario had sounded. Jorah meant far too much to her to use him like that. And that was the fact that was scaring her the most at the moment.

  “I’d like it if we didn’t discuss him anymore for the time being. He’s preoccupied with that sorcerer for the time being.”

  “Sorcerer?” asked Tyrion, although his question went unanswered.

  “I’m still confused as to why he is locked up,” Varys spoke. From what he had heard, Bruda had done nothing but help her.

  “Because I can’t trust him yet. He has the capability of killing me with a gesture, surely my advisor would tell me to not risk having him in my presence?” Her tone was dangerous, annoyed at being questioned. Varys bowed his head in apology. “And, right now, I have to focus on the fighting pits. Once that’s done, then I can prepare for the next steps on our journey.”

  Before anyone could respond, a knock came from the door. It slowly opened, revealing an Unsullied guard stood next to a white-haired old man. A large smile graced the lips of Daenerys.

  “Ser Barristan! It is so good to see you on your feet.”

  “Thank you, your grace.” He looked strange in simple clothes, a bandage around his torso. Seemed so much feebler than the man in full armour. He eyed the others in the room, a couple he didn’t recognise. “Have I missed much?”

**********     

  “Will you sit still!” grumbled Bruda. Their current tight confines was beginning to wear the two men down. It had been a day since Jorah’s arrival, and a day since Bruda had exposed his recent infection. Jorah had told him about his encounter with the stone men in Valyria and how he had sacrificed himself to save Tyrion. When Bruda had asked why he had put his body on the line for someone he barely knew, the response had come that Daenerys needed him. Bruda doubted though that that was the case; he was sure that, if she had to pick, it would always be the knight. He hadn’t voiced that opinion however, not wanting him to think about the prospect of returning to her when the inevitability was that the greyscale would claim his life. Unless Bruda could do something about it.

  Jorah had spoken at length of how, when he realised that he had greyscale, during a brief moment of solitude on the boat to Slaver’s Bay, he had obviously been devastated, but also fine with it. It had spurred him on even more to reach Daenerys, to see her at least one more time so that it would all be worth it. Bruda had thought the whole situation cruelly and needlessly tragic. If Jorah had confessed sooner to his crimes, then he wouldn’t be in this predicament. He knew that he had the capability to solve the issue, he knew that he wanted to. He just didn’t know if Jorah trusted him and, more importantly, his magic enough. Within the next few days, the infection would spread on a scale that would make it incredibly difficult to deal with. If he didn’t act soon, then it would be too late, probably for both of them. If Daenerys found Bruda in a cell with a dead Jorah (because he had asked the other man to kill him before the greyscale took over him), then he suspected that he would be joining him in the afterlife.

  “I can’t stay put. I have a clock counting down on my life. And I’m stuck here. So close to her, and yet even further away than ever.”

  “Your love for is incredibly sickening. I hope you realise that.” Bruda’s sarcastic comment did nothing to ease the tension in the room. He was trying to show Jorah that he didn’t think the situation was as serious as it seemed. His attempts were failing, a lot more frequently as the day went on.

   “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Well, to make sure your precious Daenerys doesn’t die, you’d have to leave. Because there’s no way you’re gonna last in her presence without reaching towards her once in a while. But, as you may have noticed, your stuck here. So that’s not an option. Any chance of curing it with proper medicine is most likely gonna be at the Citadel in Old Town. Lots of maesters there, bound to be one with some knowledge of this disease. But they’re very finicky with the rules; I doubt they’d risk the infection spreading across the city to save one old man.” Jorah sent a disapproving glare. “Oh, and you’re stuck here. So that’s not an option. Killing yourself would be the noble way out but you have no way of doing that, and I’m not going to do it just yet. I’m not fond of being noble anyway, it’s just a way of becoming dead much faster than necessary.”

  “So what you’re saying is that I have no hope and I should wait here until I succumb to its effects?”

  “Of course I’m not. You’re a miserable bugger as it is, if you lose the last bit of hope you have, then you’re gonna make my time here massively unbearable.”

  “You haven’t given me a proper choice though!” he growled, frustrated at how right Bruda was, yet still happy for the company. “Maybe if I asked her, she would allow a guard to kill me.”

  “You know more than anyone else that she would never do that. She cares for you far too much, from what I’ve heard. Until you’re no longer you, then she will make you live.”

  “Another dead end then.”

  “You’re getting the hang of this now. So you’re left with one remaining option. Do you trust me?” 

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you trust me? Or have you forgotten that I’m a warlock, and can then do amazing and wondrous things?”

  “You could help me? Cure me?”

  “I certainly think so. I’ve never had to do it before, heal such a serious infection, but I’d hope it’s within my capability.”

  Jorah contemplated the decision for a moment. In his current predicament, it was likely that this was his only chance of survival. And what did he have to lose now?

  “Yes….I trust you. For some stupid and unknown reason, I trust you.” A smile crept onto his face, the first Bruda had seen from the Bear.

  “Don’t start smiling yet. I haven’t done anything. But, when you next see your queen, tell her that. It would go along way in getting me out of here.”

  “If you manage to perform a miracle, I definitely will.”

  “Well then, sit yourself down and roll up your sleeve.”

  “We’re doing it now?”

  “Of course. We’ve got nothing better to do, have we?” Jorah nodded at that, and did as Bruda had instructed. He stretched his arm out, exposing the small area of skin that showed the symptoms of greyscale. The warlock shook his wrists and cracked his back, preparing himself. With each crack, small gasps of golden energy flickered from his hand. Jorah eyed him wearily. 

  “Is it going to hurt?”

  “Undoubtedly. Although, like I said, I’ve never done this before. It may be painless, it may actually be the greatest feeling you’ve ever experienced. Is that reassuring?”

  “No.”

  Instead of answering, Bruda leant forward and quickly grasped Jorah’s arm before he could argue. The knight was shocked when the other man touched the infected skin, sure that all that he had done was give himself the disease. Bruda seemed to read his mind.

  “How do you think I shook your hand?”

  Nothing happened for a few seconds, as Bruda sat with his eyes closed, concentrating. But then, that same, soft golden glow emanated from his hand and surrounded Jorah’s arm. And, by all the gods, old and new, it burned.

  Bruda was surprised that none of the guards were roused by the screaming as the golden energy pulsed between the two. It was criss-crossing along the skin, weaving its way around the patch of greyscale. He didn’t really know how long they sat there for, he suspected it wasn’t as long as Jorah was probably thinking. But, eventually, his hand shifted slightly down on the arm, touching normal skin. He removed his hand, the glow slowly dissipating, and looked down in the same direction as Jorah did.

  The greyscale was gone.

**********

  “So you eventually made it, it seems.” The statement had come from Varys as he noticed Tyrion enter the room. He didn’t even to look up from where he sat to know it was the dwarf; no one else had any reason to visit him. Since their arrival, they had been given their own private quarters. Whereas Tyrion’s was spacious and now decorated fairly lavishly, with an open view of the city, Varys’s was much darker, with most of the space taken up by a large, wooden desk. It was there that he was currently sat, writing notes to send off across Essos and Westeros. News would have to get out that the Dragon Queen was going to be on the move very soon.

  “Did you have any doubt in me?” Tyrion hadn’t lost any of his ego on his journey, Varys noted. He had expected nothing less.

  “Sadly not. I must say, it has been much more peaceful without your incessant talking.”

  “Excuse me, the last time we were together I was stuck in a box! I wasn’t allowed to speak!”

  “That doesn’t mean you now try to make up for that time.”

  “It’s good to see that you haven’t changed.”

  “I wouldn’t do you the disservice of evolving. Your life has changed enormously already, it is sometimes essential that you have at least one constant to keep you grounded.”

  “I have missed your company, Varys.”

  “Oh I know.”  _ Was that a smile  _ wondered Tyrion. “But it seems you quickly found a replacement for me.”

  “Trust me, I didn’t find him. That brothel in Pentos, that’s when he got me.”

  “I did notice your disappearance. At first, I presumed you had finally found a woman to occupy your time. Alas, it seems instead you walked into the bear’s cave.”

  “You know him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I know of him. I haven’t had the opportunity to meet him just yet. Although I’m sure you know that we have corresponded in the past.”

  “He may have mentioned it once or twice. I’d be wary of him when you do meet. He hugely regrets what he did and you were the one who participated.”

  Varys nodded at that. “So you think it is an inevitability that I will meet him, so you assume he will be let out eventually.”

  “It’s surely only a matter of time before she sees her senses. He’s a valuable asset.”

  “A dangerous one for her though.”

  “A risk she will be willing to take, I bet. The way he spoke about her, she would be a fool to lose him.”

  “I’d advise you holding your tongue a bit more in front of her. Or you’ll be visiting her dragons.”

  “I wouldn’t actually mind meeting them. I’ve always had a fascination with those beautiful creatures.” His voice trailed off at that, thinking back to his youth when he would dream about having his own dragon. His father had told him that no dragon was small enough for him to ride and that his hopes were completely ridiculous. That had actually been one of their best conversations. His favourite though was the one that had ended with him shot through the heart. Varys rolled his eyes at the comment, standing up from his desk. There was a large holder of wine on the desk, accompanied by a few glasses. He poured some of the fruity alcohol into one of them, handing it over to his guest, who had licked his lips at the sight. It had been an age since had had a proper drink.

  “Keep talking like that and you’ll get on fine with our new queen. Now, what do you think of her other appointees,” Varys asked.

  “I remember Ser Barristan from when he was on the King’s Guard. A very noble man, was brave enough to stand up to my family. Not many would at the time. I respect him a great deal. He’ll be incredibly useful to her. It already seems that he has put his body on the line for her.”

  “Yes. And wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the warlock currently occupying a cell with your new friend.”

  “So she wasn’t lying about that then.”

  “He’s a conundrum, even for me. Which doesn’t happen too often. A magic user would be useful though…”

  “I suspect that he’ll come out at the same as Mormont.”

  “Don’t downplay the Targaryen’s mistrust of warlocks though.”

  “She’ll have to get over it. One mage on your side can tip the balance in your favour. Especially if they’re powerful ones.”

  “Indeed. So, what about the others? I’d like to know your first impressions, seeing as we’ll be working with them now.”

  “That Naharis seems to me to be a wildcard. I doubt he has a huge amount of political acumen. But he represents another sword, who for now is loyal to our cause. The girl, Missandei is it? Seems very quiet, but close to Daenerys. But she won’t have any experience of what’s to come.”

  “I believe she has recently suffered a great loss. It’s thought she had fond feelings for the leader of the Unsullied, but he passed on recently. Obviously has shaken her but I’m sure she’s already begun the process of moving on.”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll work hard to get her out of her shell.”

  “Good luck with that. So, in summary, you believe that, barring us and Selmy, her council has no experience of ruling, which will make the next phase of our journey very tiresome indeed.”

  “But it’s going to be exciting.” Tyrion raised his glass at the start of their new venture.

**********

   They cautiously walked over to the fire. They were wary of who they’d find but at least they’d be touched by the comfort of fire for a brief moment. It was worth the risk alone. It was a short walk to the makeshift campsite. Tormund was now leading, axe in hand, looking ominous as the snow swirled around him. There was no shelter around the fire, which persuaded Mance that the inhabitants wouldn’t be wildlings; they’d no better if they wanted to survive. 

  Their arrival was noted by the three men, who stood up as they approached. As Jon got closer to them, their appearances became discernible. One had a beard and top-knot in his hair, another also had a beard but also a black eyepatch covering his right eye. The third man was instantly recognisable to Jon from the scarring across the right hand side of his face. 

  “Hello there,” shouted Beric Dondarrion, snow covering his beard. Thoros of Myr stood behind him, the red priest less confident than his counterpart. Jon was only looking at the other man; the Hound sneered in his direction but it had less bite than he remembered.

  “What are you lot doing out here? Are you fucking mad?” answered Mance, not impressed with their lack of preparedness. 

  “Maybe a little. Although I could ask you the same.”

  “I’m king beyond the wall. This is ma land. Ma home. But it won’t be for much longer. We’re on our way to take ma people south of the Wall.”

  “Fleeing the dead.” Beric didn’t pose it as a question, he already knew.

  “And how would you know that? If you do, then surely you’d be leaving to.”

  “Our goal here is what the Lord of Light wishes upon us.”

  “So you’re a fuckin nutcase,” Tormund added.

  “You wouldn’t think that if you had seen what we’ve seen,” said Thoros, speaking for the first time.

  “The Lord of Light wants us to take on the Night King. We presumed that meant us alone, but it seems you share our mission,” ventured Beric.

  “It appears so,” responded Jon, taking control of the situation before too many insults were said. “Back at Castle Black, we have a Red Priestess. I’m sure she’d be glad to meet you.”

  “That’s if we actually go with you,” growled Clegane.

  “You’d be in the right mind if you do. If your goal is to defeat the Night King, then we should combine our efforts. If you join us to the wildling camp, then you can come with us back to the castle. We have an army there. We can’t beat him on our own, neither can you.”

  The impassioned speech seemed to work, as Beric, after looking between his compatriots, nodded an affirmative. After the men huddled around the small fire for a few moments, they put it out and continued their journey to the camp. As they did so, Jon fell in step with Sandor.

  “You’re the Hound.”

  “Well spotted.”

  “What are you doing up here? You were Joffrey’s lapdog the last time I saw you.”

  “Aye, and that was the biggest fucking mistake I ever made. I got captured by these lot, then left with your sister actually.”

  “Sister? Sansa?”

  “No, the little boyish one. Left me for dead eventually. But I was saved. Brother Ray helped me, I saved him from the Brotherhood without banners. But I joined them, and here I am.

  “How is Arya?”

  “How should I fuckin’ know? Pretty fine after she took my gold.” Jon nodded at that, but their conversation stopped as they reached the camp. Jon looked over to Mance, who wore a concerned expression on his face. They expected noise, life, signs that a form of civilisation still existed there. But it was quiet. No fires were lit. Nothing. They slowed their pace as they walked into the camp and it soon became apparent what had happened.

  The dead had already been.


	6. Plans and Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and his men survey what's left, Jaime gets an unexpected surprise, Sam arrives at the Citadel and Bruda sees an opening

They walked around the barren campsite, dejected as they took in their surroundings. Their arduous journey north apparently seemed for nothing now. What was most unnerving was the lack of corpses; Jon knew that meant the Night King’s army had been replenished. Their task of defeating him, already seemingly so improbable, was veering towards the realms of impossibility. The snow seemed calmer as they made their way into the heart of the wildling home, which just added to the eerie silence. Some of the men that had journeyed with them were taking to looking around the tents, hoping to find supplies that would give their mission some form of success. There wasn’t a lot though - most of the shelters had been scorched, bearing the marks of previous futile attempts to start fires to stop the hoard of the dead. The smell of burnt bodies lingered around the area, a smell that Jon wished he would never have to experience again.

  “I knew a lot of the men here,” Tormund spoke, his voice quieter than Jon was used to. “They were good men, good fighters. And yet they were easily beaten by whatever fucking monstrosity is out there. We don’t stand a chance.”

  “The day we lose hope is the day we lose,” Jon argued

  “Fuck hope. You say we have an army past the Wall. If they’re not busy with their own puny battles, then they may help us. But they won’t have seen anything like this. Our men have and were crushed like a bug. They won’t be able to do any better.”

  Jon looked around, scanning the faces of their men. The defeated tone in Tormund’s voice seemed to resonate with their own expressions. They had given up. “Look men,” Jon said, raising his voice, “I know that right now, everything seems bleak. Our chances of winning this war have been damaged here today, that’s undeniable. But we owe it to everyone south of that Wall to keep trying, or else what we see right here will happen to every village, town and city in Westeros. We owe it to them and ourselves to keep the fight going for as long as we can.”

  “We owe them fucking nothing!” shouted Sandor. He was becoming annoyed at the righteous attitude of the Stark bastard. He needed to set him straight or he’d get them all killed. “Those people won’t believe a word we say. I certainly wouldn’t if I hadn’t seen it with me own eyes. Why should we sacrifice ourselves so the likes of the Lannisters stay alive like the fucking cockroaches they are?”

  “Because it’s our duty. It’s mine because I swore an oath to the Night’s Watch; it’s the wildlings’ because they are losing their own home and land; and it’s yours because of what your Lord of Light speaks. If he thinks we stand any chance of winning, then surely that means we have to continue.”

  “He’s right Clegane.” Beric walked up to the larger man. “You looked into that fire and saw what they’re like. Maybe this mission was a foolish one, but we have been given the opportunity to return back south and plan a proper defence. Instead of freezing here now.”

  He got a grunt in response, they didn’t know whether it was positive or negative, but the Hound walked away, settling himself on a large rock. They presumed that meant he had given up the pointless argument.

  “Thank you,” Jon sincerely said to Beric. “We should head back as soon as we can. We don’t want them to return with us still here. We get to Castle Black, and then we join Stannis further south. That was the deal we made.”

  “I didn’t make no fucking deal,” grumbled Clegane.

  “I know. Which is why you’ll be able to stay at the Castle if you want. The Night’s Watch will be able to cater for you. But we need as many men as possible if we’re to take back Winterfell. And if we succeed, then that gives us a better base to stand against the dead.”

  He didn’t receive an answer just yet. At that point, he noticed Mance walking on his own. He seemed to be heading towards a specific point. Jon soon caught up with him.

  “I’m sorry about your people.” No answer. Mance was focused on something. He held a large key in his right hand.

  “Don’t be so sure about our defeat, Snow. You think I’d leave them to the mercy of the dead whilst I gallivanted off south?” They reached the middle of a small path. Unremarkable in its nature but obviously fascinating to Rayder. He crouched down, wincing slightly as the pain from his shoulder made an appearance, and began feeling the floor, searching for the spot. A few moments passed before his eyes slightly widened and he moved the key to where his hand had been. Jon didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t a disguised hatch lifting from the ground, the mud covering it slowly falling off as it was raised. They both looked down and were met with the sharp end of a sword. As the sunlight slowly made its way into the hole, Jon could see what Mance had done. Underneath the ground was a caven, holding at least 100 wildlings, who were relieved to see other people finding them.

                                                                                                           **********

  It had been an incredibly long journey since they had left Kings Landing. Bronn had managed to barter two stallions for them both, one white, the other a light brown. Over the days, Jaime had become quite fond of his, enjoying the company slightly more than that of his human companion. Bronn had taken to sporadically break into song to pass the time, stories of gallant knights and lecherous deeds. Jaime didn’t know if any of the stories were true but we was becoming increasingly frustrated as each melody melted into another soon after. When he had envisioned leaving his home, he had been worried about the quiet and loneliness that would have followed him; he’d gladly take an hour of it right now to save his mental wellbeing.

  They eventually reached a good place to rest, the Inn at the Crossroads. It would afford them the opportunity to eat and drink, and give Jaime’s ears a bit of a rest. Although Bronn was in no mood to stop talking as they entered the establishment. Insde, there was an array of people: surly looking men, skimpily dressed women hoping to make some money and a lot of scruffy and dirty people that the Lannister rather hoped he wouldn’t have to interact with. They got a small table in the corner and waited for a server to notice them. As one approached, it was Bronn who spoke first, not to the surprise of Jaime.

  “What would you recommend for two dashing men on an adventure?” This seemed to confuse the server for a moment, judging by the silence. Bronn looked up to see what was the problem and was met with the image of a fat young lad, with curly brown hair.

  “Ummm...let me think,” he said, as he took a seat at the table, much to chagrin of Jaime, which wasn’t helped by the smirk sent his way by Bronn. “If you’re going on an adventure, you need a lot of meat to keep you going longer. I’ve been working on this new pastry recipe for a steak and ale pie. That’d be perfect for you two. Or maybe some lamb, slow-cooked. It’s a speciality of mine. Get the meat fresh from a local farmer who likes it here. People tend to like my food, I’m much better at it than fighting.”

  “And when would you need to fight? Or have done so in the past.”

  “Oh that doesn’t matter much. In the past now, I guess,” he spoke nervously. Bronn didn’t seem too convinced but he was more hungry than bothered about the life this boy had lived.

  “We’ll take two of the pies and a flagon of ale to go with it.” He didn’t bother asking if that’s what Jaime wanted. Because he just didn’t care. Before the lad could get up though, Bronn caught hold of his arm. “Say, I was wondering, do you see many strange people around here lately? I bet you get a lot of visitors here.”

  Hot Pie was confused at the sudden change in topic but wasn’t too concerned. “Well of course. You see all types of people here. Coming for my food, I reckon. It’s like today, there’s that woman who says she’s a knight. Seemed a bit rude and blunt if you ask me but they paid for their food so I’m happy. I think they got the lamb actually. Like I said it’s a favourite round…”

   Jaime interrupted him. “Wait….a female knight?”

  “Yeah, I was shocked too. Not something you see everyday, is it? But she had all the armour on, and I noticed this giant sword by her side. Must have been telling the truth, I reckon.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Not much. I only just served her. She just wanted some food for her and her companion.”

  “Only just served her? You mean she’s still here?” Bronn was confused as to why Jaime had such a fascination about this woman. Unless it was the one that had caught his fancy.

  “Yeah. She’s just round the corner. I don’t think you want to go bothering her though, she seemed quite tense.” His advice fell on deaf ears as Jaime abruptly sat up, followed closely by Bronn who wanted to see if his reasoning was right.

  It didn’t take him long to see her; she didn’t really fit in. Most of the women were servers or prostitutes so to see one actually sat down was rare, making his job a lot easier. She sat with her back to him so didn’t see him approach - it was her companion who noticed him, his eyes widening in recognition, especially at the sight of Bronn. As he put his hand on her shoulder, he bent down slightly and spoke.

  “Lady Brienne of Tarth. What a pleasant surprise to see you again.” She tensed at the voice, instantly recognisable in her mind. She turned around swiftly but didn’t reach for her sword, not thinking that she was in any foreseeable danger.

  “Jaime. I could say the same.” An awkward silence fell on the group, as the two looked at each other quite intently. It was Bronn who broke it.

  “I never thought I’d see your fucking face again.” He directed this at Podrick, who stood up to greet his old friend. “And I can’t believe you’re still working for her.”

  “It’s an interesting job. Keeps me on my toes.” They shook each others hands, before Bronn pulled the younger man into a strong hug. Brienne had an amused look on her face as they embraced. As they released, Podrick continued. “I see you’re not with Tyrion anymore,” casting a quick glance to the Lannister.

  “Aye. He’s gone. Done some naughty stuff, your old employer. Never thought he had it in him. Quite proud of him actually. Brings a tear to the eye just thinking about it. Haven’t seen him since he escaped his cell in the Red Keep. No one knows how he got out.” At that, he looked at Jaime, who tried to look innocent in the face of scrutiny. “Maybe he just slipped through the bars, he was fucking small enough.”

  “The door was wooden,” Jaime argued.

  “Interesting how you know that.” Bronn was pleased that he had so easily tricked the other man. “So the lion still has a heart.”

  “That’s not the point right now. What are you two doing here?” he asked Brienne. She got up from her seat, seeing as everyone else was stood up.

  “Lady Catelyn instructed me to protect and serve Arya and Sansa Stark. I’m attempting to do that.”

  “Not fucking well it seems. Last we heard, the older one was under Bolton control.”

  “I know.” She had a distasteful look on her face at Bronn’s language. “Which is why we’re heading north to Winterfell to get her.”

  “Now ain’t that funny. We’re heading there ourselves.” She didn’t seem convinced by Bronn’s statement so she looked at Jaime for confirmation.

  “It’s true. I had to leave Kings Landing otherwise my head would be on a spike. I thought the Boltons would be my best chance at sanctuary.”

  “How would that work? The Boltons are in allegiance with the Lannister family, and if you’ve left them, surely they won’t welcome you with open arms. Your head would definitely be on a spike if it grew their reputation with your family.”

  That gave him pause. “I...hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Well...you still need somewhere to go. You could come with us, help us rescue Sansa, and then we can plan what to do with you.”

  “I think that’s a splendid idea!” Bronn answered for him. “But I want ma food before we leave.”

                                                                                                                  **********

Old Town was a magnificent place to behold. Especially after spending months at Castle Black, which you’d describe as dreary and dull if you were trying to be positive. It had been a long journey for the three of them, with little Sam constantly growing restless, which had often caused tension and grumpiness between Sam and Gilly. He was more thankful for her company than she realised, although only a bigger man would admit that. But, at the present time, he had to focus on the challenge at hand, which was to find any information about the White Walkers and how they could be defeated, if that was possible. After he had rented out a room in the middle of town, where Gilly and the baby currently were, he had made his way to the Citadel. This was the centrepiece of the town, the main attraction. Sam had heard a number of stories of how many books were held within, often sending his brain into overdrive over the thought of reading them. He knew it held many secrets, some that even most maesters wouldn’t know, and his task was to unearth them to take back to Jon. If Jon was still alive by the time he returned. And that was if he ever had the chance to return. All the ifs and buts didn’t bear thinking about right now. He had to keep telling himself that, his mind whirring constantly as he stepped inside.

  He made his way over to a desk that was currently occupied by a fairly young maester. His arrival didn’t prompt the other man to look up from his work, a dusty old book open, with a piece of parchment by its side that he was currently writing on. Most people would find it boring - Sam thought it was incredibly exciting.

  “Yes?” came the blunt welcome.

  “He...hello,” Sam stammered, not expecting such a frosty greeting. “I’m Sa..Samwell Tarly. I’ve come here to train to be a maester, like you.”

  “If people came in off the streets all the time and we just let them become maesters, then there would be no room left in here to move about.”

  “No...no. You’ve got it wrong. I’m not just coming from the city. I’ve travelled from Castle Black, by the Wall”

  “I know where Castle Black is, thank you. Do you expect the length of your journey to change my mind in letting you in?”

  “Maester Aemon Targaryen sent me here before he passed on. I’m to train to be the new maester there.” He handed over a handwritten note from the deceased man that he had grown close to.

  “Interesting. I didn’t know he had died.”

  “So you don’t know everything. That’s a shock.” He got a glare after that but he didn’t really care. He had every right to be there and he wouldn’t let some snobby arse tell him otherwise.

  “I guess you should go see Archmaester Marwyn. I’ll send a note ahead of you to...warn him.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, before rushing off to find this Marwyn. He found the old man in a secluded office, deep inside the Citadel. After knocking on the door and being called in, he stepped inside to find the room was larger than he expected. Towards the right hand side of the room was a sturdy table overflowing with old books, most of which had a thin layer of dust coating them. Marwyn was stood up by a bookcase, examining the spine of one of the many books. He was a plump man, his rotund belly protruding out. His grey hair was thinning on the top of his head. He turned around slowly to take in his guest.

  “You must be the new boy.”

  “Yes...Samwell Tarly.”

  “Tarly? You sure your father will want you here? I’d expect he’d prefer a brave knight over a bookworm.”

  “I’m already a disappointment to him. This won’t change anything. But I’ve got to do this.”

  “And why’s that, young man? You do realise how difficult this process is?”

  “I’ve got an idea, yes. But, by doing this, it’ll give us the best chance of defeating them.”

  “And who do you mean by them?”

  Sam hesitated, not wanting to be ridiculed on his first day here. “Whi...white...walkers. The dead”

  Marwyn didn't seem perturbed. “You know, if you go around mentioning stuff like that, then you’re going to get a lot of weird looks. Respect is everything here and, if people begin to not believe a word you say, which will definitely happen with stories like that, then you will never earn it.”

  “They’re not stories though! I haven’t made this up.”

  “I never said stories had to be fictional.”

  “You...believe me?” he asked, bewildered by this apparent good fortune.

  “It isn’t down to belief, boy. I know about the white walkers. Why do you think I’m so far deep in this place? People don’t want to know about my work. Sure, it’s not the focus of my studies, but there’s a reason you were sent to me.”

  “So you’ll help me?

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ve got plenty of work to do first.”

                                                                                                           ***********

  “I feel like I need to thank you again.”

  “You’ve already said it plenty of times. It’s actually quite tiresome. I didn't do much really.” Bruda was slowly becoming irritated by Jorah’s thankful attitude. He was beginning to wish some of the grumpiness would make a return, but he knew why the knight was so happy. A major barrier had been moved between him and Daenerys. Now they just had to get out of here.

  After Bruda had performed the magic that had cured Jorah, he had taken a few hours to sleep off the effects. It had been a tiresome effort to remove the greyscale and Jorah was understanding when he had to take some time out. After thanking him profusely.

  “You saved my life. I’m in your debt.”

  “Oh please don’t start. If everyone I had saved said that, then I’d be in a very good position. But I don’t do it for that.”

  “So you’ve saved a lot of people?”

  “I’ve tried. As many as I can. Most people have that same attitude, but I have the rare ability to sometimes be able to do something about it. That doesn’t mean though that I’m always successful.”

  “It’s a lot of pressure.”

  “Why do you think I’ve got a crooked back? All that weighing down on me.” He smirked at that.

  “Well you’re doing a good job since I met you. Thankfully.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I just did it to keep some company. I’d go mad if left alone with my thoughts all the time.” Despite the words he said, Jorah could tell that he didn't really mean it. He believed that the warlock wasn’t use to being close to people; it would be along transition period if he was to stay with them.

  “You’re not used to a lot of close company, are you?”

  “Not at all. Being who I am, normally when people get close to me, they eventually want me to do something for them. And I’m incredibly old. Older than I look, I have a good face wash regime.” Jorah smiled at the attempt at levity. “But that means, if I grow attached to someone, they’ll eventually leave me, one way or another. And they break my heart. So many times in my life. So I left, hid away from the world.”

  “Yet you came back.”

  “Yet I came back. Because I heard stories of an unbelievable young woman, righting the wrongs of the world. And I thought to myself, you can’t go wasting your days alone. It’s not fair, when I can accomplish so much. So here I am. Back from the dead.”

  “Daenerys will come to your side eventually.”

  “I bloody well hope so. I had a comfy chair where I was holed up.”

  Jorah was going to respond before he was shushed by Bruda. The warlock stood up, marching towards the door before pressing his ear on the wood. He remained like that for a few seconds, before giving Jorah a grim look.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think today is the day your queen is at the big fighting pit.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because it wouldn’t have been so easy for the Harpies to get in here if she was currently inside the temple. They just killed a couple of soldiers, judging by the number of thuds I heard. And if they’re here, then they must be planning something at the pit. And she won’t know about this because the people protecting her are slowly being slaughtered. Making her a lovely, pretty target.”

  “We have to do something.”

  “Of course we do. I’ve got it sorted. Because, you see, the Harpies haven’t considered one crucial thing. A very important factor that will determine whether or not they succeed today. They’ve killed the guards. The guards that were monitoring us. A brave, old knight and a brilliant warlock. We’re getting out of here.”


	7. Fights and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Bruda and Jorah arrive in time to save Daenerys?

The difference in size between the previous fighting pit and the Great Pit of Daznak was quite remarkable. One had no room for a public audience; the one Daenerys was in was overflowing with people from across the city, and others areas around the bay. She couldn’t believe how so many thought of this as entertainment, their apparent blood lust sickening her. She realised that her distaste towards the fighting pits probably originated from the stories she was told as a child of how people would watch dragons fight in similar pits when they were still alive, each generation smaller than the last due to their captivity. To pay to see dragons fight to the death was one awful thing, but for it to be actual humans….she couldn’t wrap her head around it.

  She found herself in a similar position to her last time in a pit - perched on the centre throne on the stage, although this one was raised much higher on stone. A number of lords sat behind her, and behind them were the stands of fans; rows and rows of people eagerly anticipating the action that was to come. The sooner she left this place, the better. She looked over at Hizdahr zo Loraq, who was sat with the Meereenese lords, eating fruit and drinking fine wines.  _ At least someone is enjoying themselves _ . For some unknown reason, she felt on edge ever since she stepped foot inside the arena. She passed it off as apprehension of the gruesome displays she would be actively encouraging, but the sense of foreboding continued to niggle away at her. Daario seemed to pick up on her unease as he stepped towards her.

  “Are you okay, my queen?” She only nodded in reply and, although that didn't reassure him much, he backed away to his previous position, standing guard by her side. He knew that whatever was wrong with her could not be helped by any words he’d muster. Her problems were often too complex for him; he often worried that, one day, he’d simply be left behind. He was stood by Barristan Selmy, who had recovered well enough to supervise the goings on. He shook his head slightly at the shortcomings of the younger man. Their relationship was always going to be a flash in the pan.

  Tyrion, Varys and Missandei stood together on the stage, observing the crowds file in quickly. Tyrion had wanted to become acquainted with the former slave and now seemed like a perfect opportunity to do so. Varys didn't have the foresight to stop him from rambling on.

  “We haven’t yet properly spoken, you and I.” He got a polite smile in response. “You’re not a talker.”

  “Or maybe she just refuses to speak with people like your good self, Tyrion,” Varys quipped.

  “Is she against dwarves?”

  “Probably just against randy, drunk men that constantly spout nonsense, polluting our minds.” Missandei bit back some laughter at that.

  “I don’t know why you find that so funny! I’d take a randy, drunk man over a bald eunuch everyday.”

  “That’s because you’re incredibly egotistical and narcissistic.” Tyrion just huffed at that comment.

  “When there’s time available, I am sure that your company will be most welcome,” Missandei spoke quietly.

  “See, she does like me! And I think there was flirting in there.”

  “Only you would think that as flirting. She is simply being polite, a rare commodity that you, frankly, do not possess.”

  “I’m only impolite to you, Lord Varys, because you seem driven by the goal of infuriating me.” Their bickering was brought to an end by the entrance of a number of fighters into the pit. They walked over to the stage in a line, all bearing an array of deadly looking weapons. Daenerys now knew what was expected of her, and she clapped her hands for the conquest to begin.

                                                                                                      *********

  “What are we going to do then?” Jorah was stood up, pacing the small room that they were in. He was incredibly nervous about Daenerys’s wellbeing and was anxious to get out of here.

  “I know you want to help her. That’s perfectly understandable. But we need a proper plan. Otherwise we’ll end up as dead as those guards.” Bruda was currently acting out scenarios in his head; not many were ending well.

  “Do you have a plan?” Jorah grumbled.

  “Of course I do. We get out of here, help kill all the harpies and you run off into the sunset with your love.”

  “A realistic plan.” It was no time for levity.

  “It is a realistic plan. You need to realise that I’m more of a think-on-my-feet person. It’s served me well so far. No point changing a winning formula. Now, get out of my way.” Jorah did so, moving away from the door. Bruda balled his hands into a fist, concentrating hard. The knight watched in fascination as that golden glow returned, but this time it seemed darker and wilder. Before he could react, a golden beam shot from Bruda’s hands. It forced the door off its hinges, it firing into the dark corridor. Bruda casually stepped out from their cell, looking around to see if any harpies were still around.

  “It’s a good job we weren’t chained to the wall,” Jorah quietly said.

  “Ohhh…that’s not very nice.” Jorah was confused as to what had caused Bruda’s outburst but then looked behind the door where he was, seeing a Harpy crushed by the door. Blood spattered over the wall. “I mean, I would have eventually killed him. But in a more graceful way. This just isn’t enjoyable.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be able to rectify that in a few moments.” He was looking along the corridor, listening out for any harpies that had heard the commotion.

  “Hopefully. I’ve been cooped up in that room for far too long. I want some fun.”

  “This isn’t fun, we’re saving Daenerys.”

  “Yes, yes,” Bruda muttered, as they walked towards the exit. “But who says I can’t enjoy it a little?”

                                                                                                                ********** 

  The fighting was gruesome but Daenerys made sure she kept watching so she didn't run the risk of upsetting any of the crowd. She did flinch slightly when one of the men had a sword go cleanly through the top of his head. He collapsed to his knees, before his lifeless body slumped to the sand. Yet the victory was short lived as the other fighter’s head soon was detached from his soldiers, flying some distance in the air. Tyrion swore it was still blinking as it soared against the backdrop of the clear, blue sky. 

  A number of other men fell in a short period of time. The most noticeable was one of the larger fighters shockingly being killed by a thrown spear that pierced right through his back, ultimately ending up protruding out of his torso. Daenerys was counting down the minutes until this horror show would be over. And yet it was simply just beginning.

  She knew something was wrong when she heard a woman shriek behind her in terror. She quickly turned around, standing up in her chair. The first sight that greeted her was a man on the floor holding his throat as crimson blood trickled between his fingers. A woman, she presumed the one she had heard scream, was frantically trying to help but it was a fruitless task. Daenerys could tell that the life from the man’s eyes was gone but she now had more pressing concerns because she then spotted the golden masks of the Sons of Harpy slowly converge on the stage. There seemed to be hundreds of them leaking from the crowds. She was perplexed and annoyed as to how so many had made their way into the arena; if she survived this, the Unsullied guards would feel her wrath. It was Daario who took her by the shoulders, pushing her towards the front of the stage so that they could get onto the sand, which would give them a better chance of taking on their numerous attackers. Tyrion and Varys, who had helped Missandei flee the stage just before, had managed to get down. Selmy had drawn his sword against the onrushing swarm, wanting to enact vengeance on the people who had almost taken his life. But he soon thought better of that, following the others into the open area. They made a tight circle in the centre of the fighting pit. Daenerys almost laughed at the fact that the men who had been trying to prove their worth by battling out mere moments before, had been one of the first people to flee the arena. She couldn’t laugh though because they were slowly becoming surrounded.

                                                                                                             **********

  They were running as fast as their legs could carry them, making their way towards the Great Pit. They had acquired a sword each from some fallen Harpies that had obviously succumbed to the Unsullied guards. Jorah’s heart was pounding, images of Daenerys’s broken body strewn against the murky floor filling his head. He had to put those to one side though otherwise he’d have no chance to rectify that. He was surprised by how fast Bruda was going for a man of his age; he suspected that it had something to do with his magic. 

  “If all the harpies are in that pit, then we won’t be enough to save everybody.” Jorah shouted over the wind roaring against his ears. 

  “We need backup then. And thankfully there’s plenty milling about this city.” He looked over to a group of Unsullied soldiers who were patrolling the streets, unaware of the carnage taking place near to them. Bruda came to a halt, prompting Jorah to do the same in confusion. “Oyyyy!” he shouted towards the guards, causing them to turn their attention on the pair. “Aren’t you meant to be keeping us in a cell somewhere?”. Both the eyes of the guards and Jorah widened at that. “Yeah, we need to be running again now.” The Unsullied had started at a fast pace towards them and Bruda shot off, Jorah lagging slightly behind. 

  “Why did you do that? Now we have to contend with them when we have other things to focus on!”

  “We don’t have a lot of time. You wanted some help, I got it for you. If you want, you can stop and try to explain to those lovely chaps the situation.” Jorah glanced back, put off by the anger in their eyes. He picked up his pace as they got closer to their destination.

                                                                                                               **********

  An Unsullied soldier fell right in front of her, his throat slit by a Harpy blade. She backed away from the dead body, observing it in fear. She had already seen a number of people die today, some for entertainment, some to send a message to her. Selmy had been caught on his left arm but that wasn’t stopping him carry on fighting, taking out an onrusher as he neared Missandei. As the body hit the sand, she bent down and took the blade that had fallen simultaneously; she would not stand idly by like a pathetic little girl whilst people she knew fought around her. Daario had taken on a trio of attackers, holding his own for the time being, parrying each probe of a sword. With Varys and Tyrion pretty much useless in this scenario, Daenerys had been left perilously isolated in the ensuing chaos. And one of the harpies was stalking towards her, drawing his sword.

  A sword flew in the air towards him and he crashed to the floor, dead before he had even noticed the pain. Daenerys looked around startled, trying to find her saviour. And she spotted him, stood by the entrance. Bruda had improvised; both him and Jorah had seen the approaching assailant, with the knight breaking into a run in the vein attempt to save her. Bruda had known he wouldn’t make it in time and had wrapped the sword he was carrying in a coat of swirling energy before launching it. Thankfully it had worked. But it wasn’t the time to admire his handiwork - he quickly rushed over to where a sword was on the floor and proceded to continue the fight. 

  Jorah and Daenerys locked eyes across the madness. He couldn’t really tell what emotions were being displayed on her face. It seemed like...relief? At the same time, Daenerys couldn’t quite get a grasp on what she was feeling as she saw the knight approach her. Despite all he had done, she still felt more secure now with him there. She suddenly had the feeling that she would survive this. 

  The Mormont knight slashed his long sword across the stomach of a harpy. Their lack of armour made the job so much easier but what they had on their side was their sheer numbers. Whenever one was taken out, another three seemed to take his place. He eventually reached the crowd of people in the centre of the arena, nodding at Tyrion, who didn't show the shock he felt at seeing Jorah. He was just happy to have someone else fighting on their side. The Unsullied soldiers that had followed Bruda and Jorah, quickly forgetting their initial targets to fight the numerous rebels, just weren’t going to be enough against these odds.

  A circle had formed, consisting of Jorah, Bruda, Daario and Selmy. They protected the others, providing a line of defence, making sure that Daenerys especially did not die. But soon they would be overwhelmed. The defenders began to take hits; Selmy was on his last legs, his age beginning to catch up to him; Bruda had been cut across his left cheek (he had promptly sent that Harpy flying into the wall with an angry flick of his wrist). They needed a pure miracle. 

  Bruda concentrated, holding his arms out straight, palms facing outwards, as he closed his eyes. That similar golden light began to wave around his hands. Tyrion’s eyes went wide at the display; Daenerys admired the pure beauty of it but was wondering what it would achieve. Her thoughts were answered as the energy spread out to form a dome, shimmering around them. The Harpies stopped, tentative around the unknown force. A reprieve for Daenerys’s team. Beads of sweat were beginning to glisten Bruda’s face, his teeth gritted in strain.

  “I...can’t hold this bloody thing long. We don’t stand a chance against these fucking numbers. But it seems that we’re in luck.” The wind around them swirled viciously, the sand being lifted in spirals. The flapping of large, leathery wings filled the air. A screech, a blood-curdling sound, could be heard and then, just in front of them, a blaze of fire scorched through the Harpies, decimating their numbers rapidly. The beast landed heavily on the ground and Daenerys beamed, tears brimming in her eyes. Drogon had come, sensing the distress of his mother. He roared in the face of his opponents, prompting some to attempt to flee. One of them (Daenerys didn't know whether he was brave or reckless) got too close to the dragon’s mouth, being picked up in its jaws before being torn into two, blood spraying over the sand. The display was both gruesome and majestic. “I think it’s time I ended this needless bloodshed.” At that, Bruda lowered his arms quickly, sending the dome to surge out. It didn't harm Drogon but it knocked the several harpies to the floor unconscious. A silence settled on the arena, apart from the huffs emanating from the huge beast.

  Daenerys approached her child. He turned his head sharply towards her. She stopped slightly before confidently continuing and, as she got closer, she reached out her hand towards his head. He lowered it slightly, and she smiled appreciatively. The others watched, letting them have their moment, before they began the cleaning up process. Jorah stepped towards Daenerys cautiously, not wanting to interrupt her. 

  “You probably know him as well as me,” she whispered. Jorah was shocked that she spoke first.

  “Aye. I helped raise them. Drogon was always a bit more boisterous than the others.” She laughed lightly.

  “Truer words never spoken. And yet, if that wasn’t the case, we’d probably be dead by now.” Jorah remained silent as she stroked Drogon’s snout. “And I’d more than likely be dead if it wasn’t for you.” He still didn't trust himself to speak. “You betrayed me.”

  “I did,” he muttered, hanging his head in shame.

  “I sent you away. I imprisoned you.” He was expecting her to, this time, tell him that he had crossed the line, pushed her too far. “And yet when I saw you, this irrational feeling of relief and happiness washed over me. Can you explain to me why?”

  “I don’t know, my queen.”

  “I think it’s because you have helped, advised and saved me over the years I have known you, You may have once gone against me, but I now realise that you have done more for me than anyone. I will forever be grateful to and for having you.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes. Say that you’ll accept my apology and help me claim the throne.”

  “It would be my honour.” He smiled at that, properly for the first time in a long time. She reciprocated it and they stood there for a few moments, looking at each other.

  “I hate to break up such a heartwarming moment…” Bruda had sidled up next to them, a slight grin sent towards Jorah.

  “Warlock Bruda. A pleasure to see you again.” Her tone was slightly sarcastic.

  “Well I was just passing by. Heard the commotion, thought I’d help out.”

  “Passing by? Last thing I knew, you were in a cell with Jorah.”

  “I don’t remember that. Interesting.”

  “I’m curious as to how you got out.” He waved his hand, producing a delicate flower and handing it over to her. He winked at Jorah, who was less than impressed. “But I took your staff.”

  “You did. I’d like that back actually. It was a good thought, taking it from me. An incorrect one, but nice try anyway. The staff is just more of a showpiece, makes me look more intimidating.” Before he could continue, they were interrupted by an unexpected voice.

  “My queen, you’re safe! I was incredibly worried.” It was Hizdahr. Daenerys noted that he didn't seem dirty or covered in blood, which was the case for all of them. 

  “Why hello there,” Bruda greeted him, taking a step towards the lord. “Just stop there for me.”

  “Excuse me? Who are you?”

  “A passer by. From what I suspect, you were sat with the other lords, which I believe would have been on the stage. Am I correct in this?” Daenerys nodded. “How very peculiar. Because you must have angered those lords by siding with this lovely woman here. And judging from what I saw, you would have been right next to where the Harpies attacked from, meaning you probably should have been the first to die.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Just...shush. Please. Because what fascinates me is that, if you were the first possible target, and you didn't make it off the stage, since I didn't see you fighting, then you should be dead.” Hizdahr’s expression turned dark. He unsheathed a blade that was hidden in his sleeve but, before he could lunge towards any of them, he was stopped by a nonchalant wave of Bruda’s hand. He took the knife out of his hand and cast a spell over it. “Oh that’s nasty. A mixture of poisons on the tip here. So, your colleagues didn't succeed so you thought you’d finish the job. Bold move. An incorrect one to make, but bold nonetheless.” 

  “She’s ruining our city. She thinks she can simply change the way we live then move on. She deserves to perish. All these deaths are her fault; if she’d drank that glass of wine I gave her the other day, then this wouldn’t have had to happen.” He spat at her feet. Daenerys thought back to that night, and how Varys had made sure to take the glass. She looked over at him, seeing him nod slightly.

  “Sadly, you’re mistaken. Well, one death today will be down to her.” Bruda turned the blade towards her, handing her the hilt. “Don’t worry, the poison is gone.” She looked at the small knife and then towards the hateful eyes of the lord. She stepped towards him, looked him in the eyes and unceremoniously slashed the metal across his throat, leaving him to writhe on the ground. 

  “I think it’s time we all reconvened,” she said to them, before walking away from the dying man.


	8. Discussions and Proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mance explains his preparations, the fallout of the fighting pit battle ensues and Stannis receives an offer

The cavern in which the wildlings were hiding was a lot larger than Jon had expected. Its damp, muddy walls were covered in torches, which had caused a layer of smoke to line the roof of the shelter. It was incredibly cramped from what he could see and he could sense how relieved the people were to get out of there. As they slowly began to file out, Tormund had made his way over, hearing the noise of the commotion. He was as shocked as Jon was, looking over to Mance for some sort of an explanation. 

  “When did this happen?”

  “Plans were put in place after you left to seize the castle. I suspected that the likely outcome of it would be my capture. I wasn’t going to leave everyone without some form of safety.”

  “But, the size of that thing. It must have taken longer for it to be made.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve been predisposed recently. Before I left, we agreed on what had to be done to survive, roughly where it would be created and the security of it.” He waved the key in his hand. “The locks were actually the first thing to be made, meaning, if I got back, I’d either be able to get in myself, or help everyone out.”

  “The whites though. You’d suspect that they’d have known.”

  “How would they?” he scoffed. “Last time I checked, they’re dead. So they don’t have any fucking brains to realise anything. They just follow orders. And if the Night King didn't know about it, then they wouldn’t.”

  The man who Jon presumed was the temporary leader of the wildlings was stood near them, listening into their discussion. He was a ferocious looking man, dark eyes standing out. Jon wondered how his bald head didn't get cold in the low temperatures but there was no way that he’d risk asking. Jon could definitely hold his sword but that beast would probably just tear him in two. He noticed Jon staring at him, and grunted, making Jon look away.

  “How many men then?” he asked Mance. He had quickly gone from despair at their prospects to having a sense of renewed hope.

  “I’m guessing a few hundred survived. This isn’t the only one they built, there’s at least another six within a few days walk from here. They’ll send someone off to each one and soon everyone will be in this main camp.”

  “And then we can start trying to persuade them to come back with us.”

  “Do you really think that they’ll come and fight your fucking wars after they’ve been through this?” Tormund interjected, angry at Jon’s naivety. 

  “It’s not about fighting our wars! That was never my intention. Stannis will expect some help from the wildlings, I can’t argue with that. To be fair, he has every right to after you bent the knee.”

  “He bent the knee to us as well! What the fuck are we getting out of this?”

  “Safety! Your people are being allowed to cross the wall. No other ruler has allowed that in history, yet Stannis has promised to do so. You’ll have a better chance of survival because of him.”

  It was Mance who spoke up next. “You know that. I know that. But most of these people won’t be so sure. Like you said, this hasn’t happened ever before. For all they know, it could be a fucking trap. It’ll take a lot to convince them to follow us south.”

  “They’ve seen the white walkers. They’ve seen what they do. I’m hoping that they see sense and realise that we’re a lot more merciful than the dead.”

  “Are you so sure of that? I’ve heard you talk about what some of those southerners have done. Boy, what makes them any better than those walking corpses? The dead don’t have a choice, it’s man that opts to kill.” Mance gave the younger man a piercing look.

  That stopped Jon in his tracks. He had never considered that side of things, so assured of the morality of the fight. He made himself think of the people that had wronged him and those close to him; Karl Tanner and Rast, who had betrayed the Night’s Watch, killing Jeor Mormont in the process; Joffrey Baratheon, mainly for being a sadistic, twisted little shit; and now the Boltons, who had taken his home. He thought of Theon, who had betrayed the people he had once called family. Mance’s words stung at the heart of Jon, opening old wounds that still were not properly healed.

  “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll be sure to rejoin you when everyone else arrives.” He left at that with no other words.

  “And I had such high hopes for that boy,” Mance murmured to Tormund. “I hope he proves me wrong once again.”

                                                                                                        **********

  Daenerys once again found herself in her council room. She had rarely felt such rage and anger within herself than at that precise moment. She had trusted that man to a certain extent and all his words, all his actions, were untruthful. She didn't know how long he had been plotting against her, possibly from the first time they had met. What this experience had taught her was that it was illogical to trust the highborn of this world. They always seemed to have a superior motive and, when her reign began, there would be no room for people’s own agendas. She was already tired of the political games and she hadn’t even reached Westeros yet. Things would have to change. The game needed to be played on her own rules from now on.

  They had left the fighting pit rather hastily after the battle was won. Drogon had taken off when Daenerys’s safety was secured but what had pleased her, was that he had chosen to fly towards the pyramid. He was currently clambering over the large stone walls of the temple, snapping at any birds that dared get too close. The people of Meereen had seen nothing like it before. The terrifying beast was a magnificent sight to behold.

  Her council room was as full as it had ever been. Most of them were covered in scratches and bruises but no lasting damage had been done, somehow. That fact was mainly down to the work of Bruda, who seemed to have been hit the worst. He was the only one sat down, breathing quite heavily. He looked closer to his actual age than she had previously seen, his messy brown hair showing a few flecks of grey. As they had got into the temple, she had returned him his staff as a thank you for his contribution. He was currently clinging onto it rather tightly. Nevertheless, he had told her to stop worrying about him when she had asked if he was alright.

  She turned to her other advisors. The common pattern had formed around her. Tyrion, Varys and Missandei were grouped together, waiting for her to speak. Selmy stood near, silently waiting to talk if anything was directed at him. He rarely contributed much to these conversations as he knew he was more a soldier than a politician. Daario was pacing in a line, unnerving Daenerys. He was angry with himself for letting that shit get so close to his queen. Such a blatant display of emotion made her question his usefulness as an advisor - she needed clear heads more than ever. The last person she looked at was Jorah; it was a comforting sight to see the old bear by her side once again. He was always the closest to her. She guessed it summed up their relationship. He had grown to become her best friend, a point that surprised her with how easily she had accepted it. With him returning to her once again, she realised how important he was to her and her chances of success. He sent her a reassuring smile to encourage her to start the discussion.

  “I think it’s time we left this wretched place. I have wasted enough time as it is, trying to help people who refuse to be helped,” she began.

  “Do you have an idea where you want to head, my queen?” Tyrion asked, wanting to know what her plan was before they gave her any ideas.

  “Westeros. I have to make my move. I’ve been searching through notes about my family’s time in that part of the world. Dragonstone is where they initially reached, we should do the same.”

  “Dragonstone is currently owned by Stannis Baratheon, who is currently pursuing the throne himself,” Tyrion argued. “He would not give it up.”

  “I beg to differ,” inputted Varys, “He has always detested the fact that he received that castle and not Storm’s End as he expected. I don’t think he’d actually put up a great fight; like you said Tyrion, he’s focused on claiming the throne and is trying to do so at the moment by conquering the North. My little birds inform me of how he has set up camp with plans to attack Winterfell; Dragonstone will be of little consequence to him.”

  “He’s a Baratheon though! They are full of pride. Losing his castle will put into question his suitability for throne. He can’t afford that. And, you’re forgetting that Daenerys is vying for the same thing he wants. Letting her have Dragonstone would just make it easier for her.” 

  “You also forget that Stannis was the one sent to kill me and my brother when we were mere babies,” Daenerys interjected. “My presence may actually make things worse for me currently. Unless I can strike a deal with him.”

  “That’s not possible or feasible,” Tyrion hastily noted. “Why would he sign any deal with you when he has a larger army?”

  “I have dragons and, when the Iron Bank legitimises my campaign, he’ll see that his only option is to side with me. I could even give him Storm’s End once I’m Queen, if that’s what he truly desires.” His presence was just another obstacle between her and the throne, which needed to be removed. 

  “Could we not just wait till he dies?” Bruda proposed. “You said he’s currently planning a battle - it’s likely that he’ll die doing that. Winterfell is a force to be reckoned with. Then you don’t have to worry about him and the consequences of landing at Dragonstone.”

  “I can’t take that chance. If he survives the battle before we propose an alliance, then any victory will boost his confidence and chances of getting the throne and he won’t need to join with us. If we do it now, then he might just consider it.”

  Tyrion still wasn’t convinced. “Your grace, just consider what happens if he does, for some reason, agree to this. What do you do if you go on to remove my family from the throne? Neither of you will want to give it up for the other.”

  “He’ll come to realise that I have the stronger claim.”

  “Politics is much more difficult than that. He won’t care about that. And the people of Westeros will remember a Baratheon ruler in a better light than a Targaryen one.”

  “Ser Barristan, how many men do I currently have?” Daenerys asked the oldest man in the room. He took a moment to go through the separate groups in his head.

  “Over 7000 Unsullied soldiers, between 750 and 1000 Dothraki riders, and 2000 members of the Second Sons. And they acquired 93 Meereenese ships.”

  “And the Iron Bank, if they were to support my campaign, how many men could we hire from them? If need be, Lord Varys?”

  “The Golden Company consists of 20,000 men. They’re known to be completely loyal to their contract so it wouldn’t be the same as simply hiring a set of mercenaries.”

  “And how many men does Stannis Baratheon have?”

  “Roughly 3000 of his own men, and an unknown number of Free Folk soldiers, according to reports I’ve heard,” Varys continued.

  “So, Lord Tyrion, it is feasible that I will have over ten times the amount of men he has. Are you still so sure that he won’t at least consider siding with me?” Jorah smiled at how she had countered Tyrion’s arguments.

  “You only consider the art of war and not the intricacies of politics,” he countered.

  “So far, politics have only served to stall me. It is time that I take the fight to the men that created the politics of today.”

  “Then I will support you in that choice. Just remember that I am only useful to you as a political advisor, not a fighter.”

  “And I am grateful for your concern and contribution. It is decided then - Lord Varys, send a proposal to the Stannis camp. We’ll set sail tomorrow to Braavos.” At that, her advisors began to shuffle out of her room. “Bruda, could you wait there.” He nodded, wondering what she wanted. Before she spoke to him though, she stopped Jorah by the door as he left. “What do you think?” She was giving him a nervous smile - she was wanted his approval more than anyone who had been in that room.

  Jorah could tell that she was slightly apprehensive. “It’s definitely a risk to side with him.” She visibly sagged at that. “But you’re right about how we have the advantage in our numbers. It could be a very good move to get the Iron Bank behind you as well. Their stamp of approval will go along way in convincing the people of your legitimacy.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Definitely. You did well in there, controlling the room. You knew what factors were on your side and used them effectively. I was proud of you.” A warm feeling rushed through her at the praise. 

  “I’m glad that I have you back.”

  “I’m happy you allowed me back. But I should be going now, we have a long journey tomorrow it seems.” His smile turned into an expression of shock as she reached up to lightly kiss him on the cheek. 

  “I will send for you later. I’ll need you by my side for what I’m going to do.” Although he was puzzled by her ambiguity, he nodded and left the room. She turned around to face the remaining man in her room.

  “That was incredibly moving and heartwarming,” Bruda said. Daenerys didn't know whether he was being genuine or not so she ignored the comment. 

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I already told you that I’ll be fine,” he moaned, chuckling slightly. “At my age, strenuous activity like that can take a lot out of me. But I’ll be fighting fit in no time, don’t you worry.”

  “That’s good, because it seems you’ll be a valuable asset on my journey to Westeros.”

  “That’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me. I must thank you for handing me back my staff. I did miss it dearly.”

  “It is an unusual piece of craftsmanship.”

  “That it is. Valyrian steel. When I first started practicing with my magic, I wanted to see if anything could hone my powers. I’ve never really understood why, but this can. It must be something to do with the way the metal is forged. Said to be formed with dragon fire. You know, the hottest fire of a dragon is actually blue in colour. You’ll have seen my magic in the pit.” He waved his hand, golden energy once again returning. “Golden. In its natural, purest form. More difficult to control but I’ve had a long time to master it. But, when I use the staff.” He grabbed hold of it with his right hand, a swirling blue energy returning to the tip of it. “The magic goes blue. It channels my magic through the flames of a dragon and increases its potency.”

  “How very interesting. But, I did not keep you here for just to learn that. Before I allow you to join me, because it is my choice if you actually come, I need to know more about you.”

  Bruda wasn’t surprised at the curiosity. “What would you like to know?”

  “How did you get your powers?”

  “I don’t really know. I was born with my magic. My parents were just regular old people from what I can remember.”

  “You’ve forgotten parts about them?”

  “Of course I have. I’m nearing on 300 years old Daenerys, as I was explaining to Jorah whilst we were in our cell.” He gave her a pointed look at that but she refused to apologise for actions she deemed necessary. “I’m bound to forget a lot of things. They died a long time ago, so their memory was always going to be one of the first to deteriorate.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Oh don’t be. At least I still know they existed. Memories are a crucial component of life, allowing us to create stories. And my story has been a great one but, with each day, I just get the sense I’m reaching the last chapter. So I need to make the most of it. My gifts have been a burden but I have never given myself the luxury of imagining what my life would have been like without them. For a starter, I’d be dead. Would have been centuries ago. But I was given them for a reason and I’m sure that has something to do with you.”

  “Why do you say that?” 

  “I didn’t actively decide to come to Meereen. A voice inside my head just whispered to me, suggesting I do. I arrived here, and then started to hear about your story. I was drawn to you, I don’t know why. What I do know is that the deal you plan to strike with Stannis is crucial. He’ll hold Winterfell soon. That place is important for the upcoming war. I am fully behind your push for the throne but you will be told of a greater battle to come, and you need to be at Winterfell. Because Winter is coming, your Grace, and both you and I need to be there for when it does.”

                                                                                                          **********

  They had been in their new camp for a few days now, all 3000 of them. The backdrop of the mountains, whilst also serving as a good defence for them, made the landscape more interesting for them to look at, especially compared to the muddy fields that spread out for miles on end. The problem that they didn't want to arise amongst the soldiers was restlessness. The conditions were poor and, without the prospect of a battle soon, it wouldn’t be long before tensions grew within the camp. Davos had already had to step in to stop one fight from escalating.  _ Men are wild animals  _ he thought, walking through the mud, the bottom of his cloak already turning a murky brown. He was holding a letter that had come by raven moments before. He hadn’t read the contents but the emblem on the wax seal had caused him to hasten his pace. His mind was a whir with what this could mean for their campaign. Stannis was in his tent, the largest in the camp. He stood off to one side, conversing with Melisandre; they both stopped talking as the Scot entered.

  “I think you’ll want to read this, your grace.” Stannis took the letter wordlessly, his expression not changing as he took in the seal. Davos could tell though that the Red Priestess was surprised.  _ Maybe your fires don’t tell you everything. _ His trust for her was minimal; he didn't expect that to change very soon. Stannis though remained stoic and Davos didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing. After he had read it, he passed it back to his Hand, who began reading it himself.

  “What do you know of Daenerys Targaryen?” Stannis asked. 

  “Not much, my Lord. Been causing quite a ruckus across Essos it seems. And now she’s wanting to come back and take what she thinks is rightfully hers.”

  “And she wants to join forces with me to defeat the Lannisters.”

  “Aye. It seems so. Courageous young woman by the sounds of things. But also quite merciless. You hear stories about her dragons. There’s no doubt that those would go a long way in helping you win.”

  “Would I be winning though? If I help her, then she’ll take the throne. I don’t get anything out of this.”

  “You get to be on the winning side. And then get rewarded I presume.”

  “The Lord of Light chose you for a reason,” Melisandre said. “This Targaryen woman supposedly has three dragons, a useful tool in defeating the army of the dead.” Stannis considered that. The road to the throne had been diverted by his own promises; if he took back Winterfell, his men would then turn to a different sort of enemy. Was becoming king his main objective now? He wasn’t the one who needed to bend the knee to the wildling king, and yet, he had done so. And then, if they survived, he could be a part of a new dynasty. It was a tempting thought.

  “How many men do we have at Dragonstone.”

  “No more than one hundred.”

  “This Daenerys asks to reclaim her ancestral home. I’m considering letting her. I don’t need it anymore. And a sign of good will would only help me in getting close to her. Send word to those men that they should be expecting some arrivals and send a raven back to our new ally. Once this battle is done, I’d very much enjoy meeting her.”

  “I’ll get to it right away, my Lord. Anything in particular you want me to add?”

  “Just inform them that we are open to a new alliance. If they get the backing of the Iron Bank, they can have Dragonstone. I’d be a fool to go against them. But right now, I have a war to win myself. I’ll worry about dragons after I’m victorious.”

  Davos nodded and left the tent, being hit by a blast of icy cold air. When he had read the letter, he had not expected Stannis to be so open to the deal. He contemplated whether his motives were entirely pure; he’d find out soon enough. 

  Back in the tent, Stannis looked over to the red haired woman. “Am I making the right choice here?”

  “I can’t see everything. With her, the future becomes less certain. But it is like what I said, fire is one of the only weapons we have right now and she’ll bring it to us. What worries me is that she is blinded by the pursuit of the throne, as you once were. You will have to convince her of the growing threat mankind faces, otherwise this alliance will be for nought and neither of you will sit upon the kingdom.”

  “I’m sure the Stark boy will be able to persuade her. He’s supposedly seen them in person, he’ll be our best option in putting forward the truth.”

  “That’s if he’s still alive. Word still hasn’t come from them.”

  “I’m not concerned about that. My men can wait for a while longer. I get the sense that Jon Snow has a talent at surviving. I bet he’d be able to survive a knife through the heart. If he doesn’t return soon, I’ll put that theory to the test myself.”

                                                                                                         **********

  A few hours had passed since her council meeting. After giving them some time alone, in order for them to get ready for their voyage, she had summoned Jorah, Bruda, Tyrion and Varys. They were all stood outside at one side of the Great Pyramid. In front of them stood a large stone door that blocked the tombs inside. Strange noises could be heard from within, strangled roars emanating from the creatures trapped there. Daenerys wished that she hadn’t done what she had to her children but it had been a necessary evil to keep them under control. But now they were leaving, and she needed them, along with the recently returning Drogon, to impress the Iron Bank and then spearhead the upcoming fight. She stepped forward, pushing the door slowly open, the stone grinding against the floor. She was met with darkness and so beckoned an Unsullied soldier towards her with a torch, grasping it in her hand as she stepped forward. The others were slightly more tentative of going inside but they eventually all followed her.

  They slowly walked in silence, the only sounds being the gentle roar of the flame and the clink of Bruda’s staff on the cold floor. Then, the shuffling of large bodies against the floor could be heard, followed by a deep growl. Daenerys took a few more steps before Viserion and Rhaegal's heads suddenly appeared from the darkness. They eyed her suspiciously, with anger. She felt tears well up at seeing such hatred from them. But she continued towards them and they let her place her hand on their necks. She focused on Viserion first, reaching to the chain and unlocking them. The loud bang of metal echoed around the cavern as they hit the floor. The dragon shook his neck wildly, chirping with joy that he was free again. The same was for Rhaegal too as she repeated the process. They had grown since she had last seen them yet they were still small in comparison to Drogon. 

  “They’re...beautiful,” Tyrion whispered in awe, his childhood dreams coming true. Varys, on the other hand, was looking at them warily. He could manipulate people easily but wild beasts were not his speciality. Bruda stepped closer towards Viserion. Daenerys wanted to warn him to keep his distance but she was then surprised to see the dragon bow his head slightly to move into the open palm of the warlock. 

  “Not my first dragon. There used to be so many filling the skies. It was a sight to behold, I tell you. But this one is just gorgeous.” Viserion chirped at the compliment, causing Daenerys to smile at his antics. 

  “You are full of surprises Bruda,” she commented. 

  “It’s why you like me,” came the quick reply.

  “That is still to be determined. I think it’s time they were allowed to finally open their wings again. They are the last of their kind, for all I know; they deserve to make the most of their time here.” Bruda looked at her, realising that she was following what he had mentioned in their conversation. The group made their way back outside, and waited for the dragons to emerge.

  “They might not fit through the entrance now,” Jorah pondered, looking at the small hole. His concerns were answered just moments later as the two of them smashed through parts of the wall, making the hole much larger, before they clambered out. They took in the fresh air, sniffing for smells that they hadn’t sensed for a long time, before they unfurled their wings and took off into the sky, circling the city.


	9. Encounters and Persuasions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommen ponders what his next steps should be, it's the final night in Meereen for Daenerys, and Jon finds out whether the wildlings will agree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Really pleased with how this story is going and the support it is getting. It means a lot with this being my first piece of fanfiction. If you're enjoying, please feel free to leave kudos or comment - I love getting to talk to you about the story. There's a quote by Jorah in this chapter which is used by the Twelfth Doctor towards Clara - I think he and Daenerys share a very similar relationship to those two. Enjoy!

Kings Landing had become a much darker place, Tommen noted as he looked out the window of his luxurious window. The people were quieter, fearful that anything they said would be used against them by the Faith Militant and the High Sparrow. He rarely walked through the city but, when he did venture out, he could sense the unease. Soldiers, because that’s what they truly were, were always standing close, watching and observing the common folk for any sins. They didn't even bother to hide themselves, standing clearly in the open, the strange markings on their foreheads; Tommen guessed that was the thing that made them even scarier to the public. They knew that they could make their presence known because no one could touch them. Tommen knew that he was the king, but they were the ones currently running the city. This couldn’t continue. His kingdom, his power, so recently given to him, was under threat from a number of sides; Stannis Baratheon towards the North, although he hoped the Boltons would help by dealing with that problem for him; increasing reports of a Targaryen girl in the East, on the move apparently closer to Westeros; and the Faith in the heart of his rule. There was also the issue with his mother, who was constantly trying to leech off his power. He got the sense though that, especially after the mysterious departure of his uncle, her strive and hunger had waned considerably. He often felt that he should feel sorry for the woman but then he would think back to how she would always side with his awful brother Joffrey and would quickly wash away those concerns. Maybe a few years ago, he would still give her the benefit of the doubt but no longer. This role had changed him. He questioned whether that was always a good thing.

  “Come to bed, my King,” Margaery purred from her position on the bed, draped in a fine silk nightdress. Tommen smiled at her, wondering what he had done to earn such a beautiful wife. Their marriage had been hasty, and he had felt slightly wrong by marrying his dead brother’s wife but he had a duty to do so and produce a series of heirs. He wouldn’t complain about doing that either. Their wedding night had been bliss, truly the best night of his young life. Margaery was the one to keep him going in this sometimes awful world. “What concerns your restless mind?” she questioned, sitting up above the bed sheets.

  Margaery had grown fond of her high ranking position. She craved power but was always careful to not make that blatant, otherwise people would quickly take it from her. And her new king, husband, was much more pleasant than the previous one. Joffrey had been an awful piece of work but she had weathered that storm because she was expected to do so. But Tommen was much more malleable to her whims. She didn't blame him - he was a young boy really and she was a fully fledged woman. He didn't stand a chance. Sure, she was growing to love him with each day but his purpose was to ensure she got what she wanted.

  “What else but that meddling Sparrow? His men have overrun the city and I have allowed them to do so.”

  “And yet he has not thought to touch you. At the moment, he is not your problem. In fact, his efforts have been focused on your mother and, if she were to be removed, that would make your life much easier. It might be a good choice to actually speak with the High Sparrow in person about her.”

  “But she’s my mother. My family.”

  “Tommen, I am the main woman in your life now. For her to finally realise that, you have to acknowledge that too.”

  “I do. Of course I do. You are my love. But what you’re asking me to do is betray my own blood.”

  “Are you saying that, if she were in your position, she wouldn’t do the same to save herself?” 

  Tommen hesitated. Cersei Lannister was a ruthless person, of that there was no doubt. Would she betray him if it bettered her position? It wouldn’t be out of character and he was the one blocking her from the throne. Yet surely he was her best option of running the kingdom. These thoughts were rushing through his head, making him feel slightly dizzy. This role had changed him. He was no longer wanting to be the puppet.

  “Maybe you’re right. I will arrange a meeting with the Sparrow in the coming days.”

  “I knew you would eventually come round.” She smiled and gave him a long kiss, dragging him into the bed with her. “I think I should speak with my grandmother soon as well. She has a good knowledge of the dark inner belly of politics, she’ll be able to help us in our schemes.”

  “She can work with my council. Uncle Kevin has his work cut out at the moment, I think he’d like her there to assist him.”

  “Now that’s good thinking. How should I reward my intelligent king?” She leaned towards him, pressing a light kiss on his lips, pushing him down.  _ This role had its perks  _ Tommen thought happily.

                                                                                                             **********

  Night had descended on Meereen. The city was much calmer at this time although it still hummed with life. Within the Great Pyramid, things were a lot more active as people prepared themselves for the start of their journey. Tyrion was in his room, enjoying the view as he drank a golden goblet of red wine. He was making the most of the luxury whilst he could; the prospect of travelling by ship did not please him whatsoever but at least he wouldn’t be stuck in a wooden box this time. Hopefully. He could see Daenerys actually doing that to him if he annoyed her too much. Despite the way they were reaching their first destination, he was still filled with a kind of excitement. He had left his family behind and was now going to return triumphant with a new queen. It was a good feeling but then he thought of Jaime, the one member of his family who actually bothered to care about him. He hoped that he had got out of there to save himself, but he knew Cersei’s claws were deep in him. It would be a difficult choice for him to make between his brother and Daenerys; the fact that it was even a choice would have to be kept secret from the Dragon Queen. He had already witnessed how she dealt with disloyalty - her verdict and punishment was swift, unless you were a Mormont. He had grown to enjoy his time with Jorah but the constant whining about the girl had made him consider jumping off the boat before he eventually fell into the water. He wondered whether she would risk letting him be such a distraction. They deserved happiness though, especially with what little time they could have together before the war to come.

  He was interrupted from his musings from a knock at the door. He clambered out of his seat, a bit too tall for him, and made his way over to greet whoever it was. He expected it to be Varys, or maybe even Jorah, but not the young woman who Daenerys had freed from her slavers. Missandei was stood in the corridor, illuminated by the torches behind her. She must have seen his puzzled expression as she was the first to speak, explaining what had caused her presence.

  “Daenerys wanted me to check if everything is in order for you for tomorrow. She understands that you arrived with few possessions on your person but she can arrange anything if you were wanting some items for the journey.” She spoke with little emotion, treating this task as if it was just a job and not a social interaction. Tyrion wanted to change that.

  “No, no. Tell our Queen that I should be fine. It’ll be Varys who will need all his elegant robes in perfect order.” She nodded and turned to leave but Tyrion spoke up to stop her. “Would you like to come in? I’m more used to hosting company, you see. Back in Kings Landing, I’d always have someone to talk to. Not so much here.” He could see the deliberation on her face. He could tell that she wanted to say no but instead nodded again and stepped inside the room when he moved to let her in. “Would you like a drink? I’ve got quite a bit of wine that’ll be thrown away by the morning. Best get it drunk, I say.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Well, we can change that,” he said, waving off her protestations as he poured some of the wine into a clean glass. He walked back over to her with it, holding it out with an outstretched hand. Again, she hesitated but eventually gave in. She seemed incredibly uneasy in this situation.  _ She’s probably not used to this sort of thing  _ he mused. “You know, you interest me. You’re an enigma amongst a group of burly men. And myself.”  _ A flicker of a smile. Progress already.  _ “How long have you known Daenerys?”

  “Not very long at all. You know that she freed me as part of a bargain with my captors. And then she killed him.”

  “Were you scared of her at the point?”

  “Not scared, no. I was scared of the men who owned me. She gave me my life back and I’ll forever be grateful to her for that.” Tyrion nodded, unable to grasp the horrors of being someone’s slave.

  “And what do you think of her plans?”

  “I’m incredibly relieved that we’re leaving this city. It has taken from me something that was growing to be precious to me.”

  “Grey Worm.” She didn't answer. “One way to get over grief is to drink. You haven’t touched yours yet.” She took a sip, her face wincing at the bitter taste. “Good, good. I should tell you, I know exactly how you are feeling right now.”

  “And how would you?”

  “Because I lost someone I loved. Twice, actually. Both of them are dead now. One by my own hand. At least you can console yourself with the fact that you did not cause Grey Worm’s death. Trust me, it is a blessing. Count yourself lucky.” His voice was bitter, remembering his first love, Tysha, taken away from him. And then his thoughts went to Shae, the woman who had betrayed him completely and yet it still had destroyed his heart when he felt the life leave her body.

  “I’m sorry. I didn't know.”

  “How would you? We haven’t spoken much.”

  “I hope that changes.” Tyrion was surprised at her comment but happy nonetheless.

  “I think that wine is already affecting your brain if you are wanting to become acquainted with someone so dastardly like me. Must mean it’s working.” She laughed at that. He was glad that he had opened her up a bit more. What was to come would be a great ordeal for them all; it wouldn’t do to have someone not feel like they were part of this group and he had seen Missandei as the outsider to Daenerys’s council. He raised his glass in the air. “To the ones we have loved. And to the ones we will save.” She drank with him, silence filling the room. Yet it no longer felt as awkward as it had previously. Only a few more minutes had passed when she put her cup down and stood up.

  “I think it’s time that I should leave. I was meant to relay the same message to everyone else and yet it seems that you have distracted me quite effectively.”

  “Are you complaining,” he slurred slightly, the alcohol slowly taking hold of him.

  “No.” Her answer was instant, this time no hesitation seen. It made a nice change. 

  “Then I shall see you tomorrow. Be careful when giving the message to that Warlock, Bruda. I’m not entirely sure he won’t bite.” With one more smile, she turned to leave and soon he was left alone once more. He sat there for a moment, thinking about their conversation.  _ Not another one  _ he thought.

                                                                                                                **********

  Daenerys was using this time to relax, in a different manner to Tyrion, but just as effective. She was currently having a long bath in her private quarters. Some of the girls had offered, and sometimes pleaded, to help her wash but she wanted some time alone. She wanted to think, to take the opportunity to recollect on her time in Meereen and to assess the progress she had made. It had been a truly difficult time in Meereen. In the space of a few months there, she had been betrayed on several occasions, she had lost the leader of the main part of her army, almost lost her most skilled guard and had almost died multiple times. And yet, she was still alive. Still in power. It gave her hope that her path to the throne was her destiny; she was beginning to believe that the gods wanted her to win. And who was she to question the gods?

  She had survived because of the people she kept close to her. Selmy had already proven to be a worthwhile asset and a loyal defender, which would be crucial in the coming months. He was also well respected in Westeros, which would hopefully encourage more people to her side. Missandei was the person she could discuss trivial matters with; to be examining politics and fights would wear down on her quickly if she didn't have the chance to just talk. She had become quite distant after Grey Worm’s death, which was totally understandable, but she sensed that she was slowly returning to her old self. Tyrion and Varys, the newest recruits to her team, where proving to be useful as well. They were the main ones to get involved in council discussions, and usually balanced each other out, helping her to make impartial and informed decisions. What she commended Tyrion for was that he was not afraid to question her decisions; it allowed her to see how other people, especially those who lived in Westeros, would view her actions. It stopped her from just launching a massive attack on the populace. Daario was the member of her council that made her pause - he was a skilled fighter, something he had proven since the first time they had met. He also was contributing 2000 men to her army, a not inconsiderable amount. He had also proven very good in bed, something she wasn’t to complain about. Yet he was not adept at what was to come. She was right - he was a fighter and that was all. She had to be careful not to allow him to get too close to her because it would likely damage her chances of success; she would keep him on their journey, but their relationship, if you could even call it that, needed to come to an end.

  Thinking about relationships turned her mind to Jorah, so often the object of her thoughts recently. The older man had been a constant in her life since she was traded to the Dothraki. He had stood by her side wherever she went and, despite his mistakes with her, she had forgiven him quite easily in the end and now he was closer than ever. And that thought was both scary and exhilarating for her. He had, and probably always will, held a special place in her heart and it seemed that it was growing with every day. She couldn’t control it for much longer. Surely it wouldn’t hurt if she was to possibly encourage the thought of that idea. She doubted it would change their relationship that much in truth, with them being so close already. She just realised that she searched for his approval more than anyone else; to her, that meant something. She just didn't know if she could act on it.

  She was broken out of her reverie by a knock at her door. She shouted for them to come in but she didn't get out of the bath. She presumed it would be Missandei, reporting on the outcome of her visits to her council members. She had already seen her in a state of undress before plenty of times. Yet it wasn’t Missandei. In fact, it was the person she had just been thinking of in so much detail. Jorah. He hadn’t seen where she was. Maybe that was a good thing. She didn't know why, but she wanted to give him a shock. It was a dangerous thought.

  “Daenerys?” he questioned the empty main room. He had sworn she had told him to enter. He walked around the room, seeing if she was sitting in some corner that was out of view. Nothing. He made to leave when he heard a sound coming from her washroom. That gave him pause. Surely she would get annoyed if he went in there without permission. ”Daenerys? Missandei came around before. I just wanted to check that you’re ready for tomorrow. It’s a big step, I was worried you might have some nerves.”

  He was always worrying about her. She should think it was irritating and yet found it endearing. She beckoned him into the washroom and was delighted to see his eyes widen as he entered, before he quickly turned around. 

  “I...I’m sorry. I didn't realise that you were in this state. I’ll come back later if you want.”

  “I wouldn’t have called you in if I didn't. You’ve seen my body before, Jorah - there’s no need to be shy now.” She waited until he slowly turned back round. She found it cute that his eyes remained firmly fixed on her own.  _ Very strong willpower _ . “You wanted to discuss something with me?”

  “I just wanted to check up on you really. You’ve had a traumatic few days and tomorrow represents a giant leap into the unknown for you.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” she said, smiling as she did so. “But you have no need to worry about me. You need to realise that I’m a strong woman now.”

  “I know.” She didn't know whether he was saying that because of the position she was in. “But it’s my job to look out for you. I have a duty of care.” 

  “I should be asking you if you’re ready for the long journey. You were involved in a heavy fight today, I’m surprised you’re not simply resting in bed.” She enjoyed the fact that she could tease him so easily and freely

  “I’m not as old a man as you may think.”

  “I do not see you as that at all. Jorah Mormont, the brave knight, my protector.” The look he gave her made her blush, her cheeks going slightly pink. She hoped he just presumed that it was down to the heat of the water. 

  “I always will be. Unless you find someone else.” He looked down at the ground at that. He knew that one day she would find a younger man and fall in love and his relationship with her would come to its natural end. He had expected it to come with Daario. It had been clear that they shared a physical relationship. Yet that seemed to have waned during his absence. He averted his eyes as she got out of the bath, causing her to laugh. “You don’t have to look away, ser. I won’t think less of you.” He remained resolute.  _ Always so noble. _ “And, I should remind you that, as long as I live, I will need you by my side.”

  He looked up at that, perhaps slightly disappointed that she had put a green robe on to cover her body. “I will make sure that I live long enough to see you on that throne. It is where you belong, Daenerys. I’d die if it meant you succeeded.”

  Her face grew stern at that. He didn't know what he had done wrong. “Jorah Mormont, say that again and I will banish you for good. If you dare get it into your head that that is your purpose or what I want, then I will have to remove you from my council to save you. You are too valuable to be a shield.” She thought back to Daario’s comments in the council meeting just after Jorah had returned; she was scared that he had spoken the truth.

  “As you said, I am your protector. Your life comes before mine. You are the crucial piece of the puzzle. You are the one that the realm needs.”

  “But I need you! What’s the point of ruling a realm if you’re not in it?” Tears began to form in her eyes. He walked over to her, wrapping her in his arms and gave her a kiss on the top of the head. Daenerys found it incredibly comforting. Jorah was trying not to focus on the feel of her body. 

  “I will try very hard not to die. I won’t actively put myself in harm’s way unless it is completely necessary. Is that satisfactory?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry I got like this. A Queen should be stronger than this.”

  “Please. You are the strongest person I have ever met. Your emotions, your empathy, are two factors that will make you a good ruler that is loved by their people. You should pride yourself on how you are different to rulers before you. It is why I follow you, Khaleesi. Remember that. I think I should leave you for the night. You need rest for tomorrow.” He unwrapped his arms, not before another kiss was planted on his cheek. She had been tempted to try the lips but that would be too far. He didn't see her like that. This friendship would have to suffice.

  “Good night, Jorah. And thank you once again. For everything.”

                                                                                                           **********

  The other surviving tribes had arrived within the space of a couple of days. Jon was glad that they had come so soon - the cold was beginning to get to him and his men. However, he had enjoyed seeing how the wildlings went about their normal days. It was comforting to see a world where things were much simpler. Their main concern was having enough food, whereas Jon had to worry about the oncoming storm, as well as ensuring the nobility of Westeros were kept content. Any support he could get in the future would be invaluable. He was currently sat inside a tent that Mance had said he could use. It wasn’t anything special and yet Jon enjoyed the lack of luxury. He had experienced a fairly comfortable life, had seen how the highborn lived. But this, this was what he was fighting for really. To make sure that the people who couldn’t defend themselves were protected. To preserve life in the face of death.  _ I’ve become incredibly morbid recently  _ he thought to himself, almost wanting to laugh at the absurdity of his position. A few years ago, he would have balked at the idea of even going to the Wall; now, going past that great structure was little more than an occupational hazard. It had to be done. He still wondered though why it had to be him that did it. There wasn’t anything special about him and yet this great pressure was on him. 

  Tormund entered the tent, his red hair covered in specks of white snow. His eyes were as wild as ever, looking around the small shelter. Jon knew that they had recently had a number of disagreements about the supposed futility of this task. Jon knew that, really, he had no place in deciding the fate of the freefolk - they were Tormund’s people, not his. He had to get him to realise that it was for their own good.

  “The leaders are assembling. Mance sent me to get you like I’m a fuckin’ messenger or somethin’.” Jon laughed at that; he was still incredibly blunt. 

  “I’ll be on my way shortly. They shouldn’t have to wait for me.”

  “No, they shouldn’t,” came the short reply. It was now or never.

  “Look, Tormund. I know you feel as if I’m trying to destroy your way of life. I know I have no right to have a say in what your people choose to do. But I am working to help you, to save your people, to preserve your way of life. Once this is all over, you can all go back to the way it was. You’ll never have to speak to me again.”

  “Don’t you think I realise that? You think I’m, what? Angry with you? Fuck that. I feel only pity for you for the shitty job you have. Most men like you wouldn’t think twice about leaving us to die. It’s the easiest thing to do. It would be our own fault. But you’re different, Snow. You actually give a shit. That makes me respect you. Your a dumb fucker at times, but I respect you. And if you think you’re getting rid of me that easily if we survive this torment, then you have another thing coming.” Jon smiled at that - it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to form a friendship with the brute. 

  They made their way over to the largest wooden construction in the camp. Inside, a meeting of older men was beginning to take place, with Mance in the middle. He looked up as Jon walked in and beckoned him over to his side. Tormund stood behind them.

  “Are you ready for this, kid?” he asked.

  “Not at all. But that doesn’t matter right now.” It seemed to be the right answer as Mance gave him a small smile and nod. He then spoke loudly to get everyone’s attention.

  “Right then! You know why I’m here. You understand the threat that breathes down on our necks, getting closer with every day. You’ve seen what they can do, the destruction they can cause. We need to leave whilst we still can.” This caused an uproar, especially amongst the older of the men. He put his hand up to stop it. “If you disagree, we’re all dead. And before I die, I will make sure to look every one of you in the eye as the swarm encroaches us.”

  “Where will we go?” one of them asked. Mance looked at Jon, prompting him to answer.

  “Stannis Baratheon has agreed to allowing you past the wall. You can have whatever land you need once the war is over. What he asks for in return is that your men fight by his side in his conquest.” That last point didn't go down well, which was expected.

  “Why should we fight for some fuckin’ southerner?”

  Mance replied this time. “He’s our ally now. At Castle Black, I willingly bent ma knee to the man.” More uproar. A large man stepped forward, anger written all over his face.

  “You’re a fuckin’ traitor Mance! We should have you killed.”

  “Of all the time I have known you Shakra, have threats ever worked? If you had let me finish, I would have also told you that he bent the knee to me. Something that wasn’t agreed beforehand. He did so out of good faith, to tell us that he will help and support us. But only if we help and support him. He is our only chance of survival.” A hush descended on the room as the different leaders deliberated amongst their advisors. Mance gave them a few moments before he spoke again. “I’m leaving tomorrow. With or without you. I will not die as a result of pride. How many of you will follow me once again?” No one responded initially. Then, the man Mance had called Sharkra nodded. Another tribesman, a bone through his nose, stepped forward. The bald man that Jon had encountered also agreed, along with two more men. “And the others?” He looked over at the men that hadn’t given their support. “So be it then. Good luck. You’ll fuckin’ need it with what’s to come.” With that, he walked out of the room, Jon trailing him closely.

  “Did that go as you planned?” Jon asked him.

  “We got five out of the seven large tribes that are still standing. About 1500 people, two thirds of them men. It’s a lot more than I expected, which means that the situation is even more dire than I realised. But they’ve seen sense, the majority of them. I hope you know what you’re doing, Snow.” Jon didn't know if he really did.


	10. Reveals and Admissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommen meets with a potential new ally, Marywn unveils something to Sam, and Jorah has to be brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling that some of you will like this chapter.

They had been sailing now for a few hours. Every member of Daenerys’s council was on the largest Meereenese ship that the Second Sons had captured, apart from Daario, who had been asked specifically by the Queen to watch over the bulk of his army on one of the other ships. Jorah had noted that many of the soldiers, especially the remaining Dothraki, weren’t particularly enjoying the method of transport. They would have to learn though - this was the only way to get to Westeros. They couldn’t all fit on her dragons. 

  The dragons in question were currently gliding over the small armada that they had. As Jorah made his way back to his own cabin, he watched as they played out their own aerial dance. They seemed incredibly happy to be back together as a trio, being able to play amongst themselves. He knew that Daenerys was worried that their time apart would have affected their relationship, which would make them more difficult to control, but, from what he could see, they seemed content. Drogon did seem to be slightly on the edge of their games but he had always been more of his own entity, the wildest of the three. Jorah had a special relationship with them all, having watched them grow from when they first hatched in the fire. Magnificent beasts. But the fact was that they were still just beasts and ultimately decided what they wanted to do. He worried that, because their progress relied heavily on their cooperation, Daenerys’s chances hung in the balance until she could train them properly.

  He reached his cabin with that woman on his mind. Like that wasn’t always the case. As he sat down by the small window, the gentle rocking of the ship lulling him into a state of peacefulness, he thought about Daenerys. Especially because of what had transpired between them just the evening before. It confused him greatly. She had no interest in him like that, that was clear. He would always be her knight, nothing else, and he was perfectly happy with that. Ecstatic even, given the brief break they had shared away from each other. So then why was she acting the way she was yesterday? He just managed with the first kiss on the cheek, barely. But then she had purposefully got him to come in to see her like...that. He wasn’t complaining, obviously - she was beyond gorgeous. But he would have thought that she wouldn’t want some old man looking at her in that way. Yet she had said that she didn't see him as an old man. Was it possible? He didn't want to hurt himself by even considering that fact. He couldn’t think straight - he needed to talk to someone. He got up out of his chair and was quickly out of the room, making his way over to another cabin. He knocked on it twice and hoped that the person was inside.

  Bruda opened the door slightly, suspicious as to why anyone would want to be meeting with him. When he saw Jorah stood there, eyes shifting constantly, he opened the door further but was still confused as to what the knight wanted.

  “I was wondering if you’d like some company? It’s going to be a long journey, may as well spend some of it with other people.”

  Bruda eyed him suspiciously. “So spending days locked in a small room together wasn’t enough for you? I should be honoured.” He stepped aside, letting the Mormont man inside his room. It was pretty much identical to Jorah’s - the only difference was Bruda’s cloak, lazily slung over one of the chairs by a small writing desk. It was strange not seeing the warlock in it. He was dressed in a plain white shirt, with the sleeves part way rolled up, and brown pants. He seemed...normal. Although Jorah knew that was far from the case. “Would you like a drink? I don’t really enjoy it myself but there should be something around here.”

  “Please. I think I need it.” Bruda went over to a trunk that had already been aboard the ship. He fished out a dusty old bottle of rum, rubbing it slightly to see inside to make sure it was alright. He shrugged, not knowing what constituted as alright, and handed it to Jorah with a small glass. They moved over to a set of two chairs that were by the window overlooking the calm waters. 

  “Do you not like sailing?” the wizard asked.

  “I’m fine with it. You wouldn’t be able to survive on Bear Island if you didn't like going on the water. It’s a way of life.”

  “So what is so wrong with you that you seek my company?”

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “I suppose so,” he said hesitantly. “You’re by far the person in our little group that I know the most. Not by choice, explicitly, but the point still stands. Yet, I don’t think that’s the reason you’re here. To seek validation of our relationship. Unless, you came here to take things further. I’m flattered but I must say no. You’re not really my type.” Jorah smiled at his antics.

  “Don’t worry. You’re not the one currently occupying my thoughts all the time.”

  “Well that’s a knock to my self esteem. But how could I compete with the delightful Daenerys?” Jorah gave him a look that conveyed his shock at how Bruda knew. “Oh come on, like it would be anyone else. I’m wondering though why it is she is tormenting you so much now.”

  Jorah began to explain to him what had happened the previous night. To be fair to him, Bruda listened intently, taking Jorah’s concerns seriously when they arose. His expression didn't change when Jorah reached the more shocking points of the tale; it helped the knight to continue through the hint of embarrassment. Once the story was over, Jorah sat back and took a long drink from his glass, quickly refilling it afterwards. Bruda sat in silence, pondering what to say. 

  “You sound like a young boy in love. Truly sickening. I’ve got the world at my fingertips, and you’re using my for advice about a girl.”

  “You know it isn’t as simple as that.”

  “Well of course it is. You’re overcomplicating it for three reasons: she’s very much a younger woman, by several decades I’m guessing.” Jorah glared at him; Bruda didn't seem to care. “You’ve known her for a very long time. And she’s your Queen.”

  “Exactly. So I should stop with these fantasies.” Bruda sighed - he wasn’t the one to be asking about relationships.

  “I’m not saying that. She cares deeply for you. More than anyone else here. But you’ve got to realise that she is on a dangerous path, one that will come with casualties. I’m not saying you’re certain to be knocking on Death’s door but it’s a massive fucking possibility for all of us. You have to decide whether it’s the right time to act on these feelings you have. Although the right time may never come.”

  “It isn’t up to me to decide. The likelihood of her reciprocating what I feel is negligible. I can’t distract her with this when she has to concentrate on winning the throne.”

  “If you truly thought that, you wouldn’t have come to me to have this discussion. You’ve got it into your stupid head that there is a tiny chance she does feel that way. If you really think that, then you have to pursue it. Don’t give me the excuse that we’re heading for war because that has never stopped people in the past. Remember in the cell, I told you that I’ve grown attached to people before. One of them was the most beautiful woman you’d ever see. Flowing brown hair, green eyes, full of life. She was perfect and we grew incredibly close because, for some silly reason, she loved me back.” Bruda spoke with a soft smile on his face, his eyes distant. It was the most content Jorah had seen him. “She wasn’t noble or anything. Hardly a penny to her name. But we were happy. And then the war came.” His expression darkened considerably. “I told her to leave. I’d be able to protect her with my powers if she just got away. Yet she stayed put. Was in the wrong position at the wrong time and I ended up cradling her dead body. All that life gone in an instant. I would have outlived her anyway probably but it still broke my heart.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh don’t be. Years ago now. But I still remember her. I will never lose that memory as long as I live.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Isobella. It sounded so exotic. And she wasn’t afraid of me, unlike most of the people. She didn't care about my magic.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I need you to understand the pain that can ensue if you love someone during a war. If you and Daenerys do end up falling for each other, like you picture in your dreams, then there is a massive risk that one of you will be left in a year’s time all alone. And it hurts. So much.”

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t take the risk?”

  Bruda smiled. “I’m saying completely the opposite. Have you been listening? The time me and Isabella had together was bliss. I do not regret ever falling in love with her, not one bit. The pain is worth that feeling of momentary perfection. You just have to be brave in the face of it.”

  Jorah looked out to the sea, clear blue currents swirling around their ship. “I should go speak to her, shouldn’t I.”

  “I think you owe her that much. I’ll warn you though, you might end up like me if you choose to proceed.”

  As Jorah got up and headed to the door, he looked back at the old man, who was still sat in his chair. “I can picture worse things happening to me.”

  “You really need to leave. I’ve had enough of this soppy fucking nonsense. Get going before I send you there myself and vanish all your clothes.” It was safe to say that Jorah hurried out the room after that comment. The door was closed firmly. “She’d probably enjoy that,” he muttered to himself.

                                                                                                        **********

  Sam was not enjoying his time in the Citadel. The majority of his time there so far had been cleaning out dirty bed pans or bringing over people their food to their private rooms. He made sure to wash his hands in between those two tasks. He was feeling sullen; he had arrived with such promise and hope that his journey would quickly provide positive results. He wanted to dive into all the books that the massive building held in its depths, all stacked along on giant shelves. They held so much information - Sam just wanted to absorb it all. And yet he had hardly been anywhere near those books. He was too busy with menial tasks, such as copying out old texts that would soon be lost from memory. At first, he had thought that this would give him the opportunity to gather some information about obscure topics. However, most of the notes were simply journals from men long dead about scientific proposals that never came to anything. And none of them mentioned anything about the white walkers. Every night, he would come back to Gilly and the baby and would repeat the same news of a lack of progress. It was draining the little confidence they still had.

  When he had first arrived, his hopes had been bolstered by his conversation with Marywn. Although lacking in some social etiquette, the old maester seemed to have a good understanding of the white walkers. He had actually talked about them when most people this far south still threw away the idea of the undead as strange stories conjured up by the people of the North. Sam had expected to have daily, or at least weekly, meetings with him to discuss facts about them. That was why he was here after all. Yet Marwyn hadn’t communicated with him since that first day. It had now been over a week and Sam’s patience was beginning to wear thin. He had made the decision to go seek out the reclusive man that evening. He had to get through yet another day of dullness but the time soon passed by and Sam was walking through the dark corridors of the deepest part of the Citadel. He made his way to Marywn’s office, the one in which their first meeting had taken place. From a distance, he could hear soft grunts emanating from the room. Then a shout of exasperation at something going wrong. Sam considered heading back as it didn't seem like the best of times but he had made it this far so ploughed on. When he could see into the office, he spotted Marywn hunched over a small trunk, muttering to himself under his breath. Sam knocked on the open door, causing him to jump up in alarm.

  “What the blazes? Oh...it’s you. I’ve been expecting you.”

  “So why haven’t you sent for me then?”

  “You’re the one who came here asking all the questions. I presumed that, if it was so important, you’d come to me to get your answers.” Sam looked down sheepishly at that. He’d been stupid once again. All that time wasted; it could be costly for everyone in Westeros.

  “I...didn't quite think of that.”

  “Apparently so. But you’re here now. What do you want?”

  “Knowledge. About the white walkers. Anything you know. Are there any books about them?”

  “There isn’t a lot to know about the white walkers. Mainly because most people who encounter them end up joining them. And no, there’s no books. The Citadel wouldn’t allow any works about them because it would taint their reputation. For some people, that matters more than surviving.”

  “So my journey here to Old Town has been a waste of time.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions so quickly. You wanted to know about ways to kill a white walkers. There’s been a number of theories up North about that. Again, there’s nothing definitive because no one has been able to defeat one.”

  “I have.” Marwyn looked at him with thinly conveiled shock. “It was luck really. I just stabbed it in the back when it was going to kill Gilly.”

  “And you’ve kept this from me for so long? This is a major advancement! Was there anything about the tool you used to kill it.”

  “It was dragonglass. It...kind of...exploded into tiny pieces when it became embedded in it.”

  “Dragonglass, you say. A peculiar material. Better known here as Obsidian. The Children of the Forest made their weapons out of it quite frequently so that would support your claim. People used to think it was created by dragon fire. The Valyrians even called it frozen fire. It’s more likely that it comes from the fires within the earth itself.”

  “So you believe me?”

  “I have no reason not to. If it is dragonglass that can kill these creatures, then we need to be heading for Dragonstone soon. That place is sitting above the largest store of the stuff.”

  “Then I need to be telling Jon about that.”

  “I would think so. If he is in league with Stannis Baratheon, the current owner of Dragonstone, then our fortunes are looking up. We should also be looking at valyrian steel. It’s on the same lines as dragonglass, in that it is believed to be formed with dragon fire. So there’s a common factor. Maybe dragon fire is the key to defeating them.”

  “Well we don’t have any dragons on hand. There are rumours in the east…”

  “Yes. And I believe them, which is why I’ve been working with this.” He hesitated before he turned towards the trunk that he had been messing with previously. He motioned for Sam to step closer and he looked inside. A dragon egg, black towards the top but dark orange mainly. It seemed like stone yet still radiated heat.

  “How did you get this?” His voice shook a bit.

 “A friend in Essos. Illyrio. Thought I’d be interested in it, with my field of work. I’ve had it for a few years now, trying to figure out what to do with it. Nothing I’ve done so far has changed it. But I have the feeling that extremely high heat may cause it to hatch.

  “You want to hatch it?” His voice was full with fear and disbelief.

  “It may be our only option if we want to win this war.”

  “Even so, it’s unlikely that the heat we need can be created.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. The Hightower. That light at the top is a small volume of contained wildfire. It’s been running for decades. That should be hot enough. If we can get the egg in that flame, then I think it’s definitely possible.”

                                                                                                           **********

  Tommen reached the Great Sept of Baelor the day after his conversation with Margaery. He had come unannounced, not wanting to give the High Sparrow any time beforehand to plan this meeting. He would not be played by someone else like had so frequently been in the past. Tommen wanted to finally take charge as King, to do something that he himself had decided. Apart from Margaery, no one else in his court knew about what was going on, especially his mother. She would work to stop this if she found out, mainly because her power would lessen. But also because the likely outcome of the possible alliance would result in her being put in front of the Faith to atone for her sins. He didn't know the full depth of what she had done in the past. He was glad that he didn't.

  He found the Sparrow standing in a plain stone room, observing a stone plinth at the back of the room. He was let in by Sister Unella, a foreboding woman who Tommen didn't want to get on the wrong side with. She was possibly the largest woman he had seen; she might have been beaten only by that Brienne of Tarth. The Sparrow didn't look up when they entered, which unnerved Tommen. As king, he was always greeted with adoration by people who wanted to use him to better their prospects in life. The Sparrow didn't care about trivial things like social standing and wealth - Tommen respected the man because of it. He had to stop thinking like that though otherwise he would simply become the Sparrow’s puppet.

  “I’m surprised that you’ve come here, your Majesty,” the old man started. The High Septon was a peculiar man to look upon. Dressed in plain grey clothes with no shoes on his feet, he would easily be mistaken as one of the beggars that littered the streets of Kings Landing. Yet this man held so much power, controlled a group of people that had overrun the city. Tommen wondered whether he dressed like that purely because of his beliefs or because it gave people a false sense of security around him. 

  “I thought the time has come for us to join together to stop this madness continuing in my kingdom.” His voice was firm, contradicting the nerves that were coursing through his body.

  “Madness? I see no madness out there. The opposite, in fact. The people are slowly learning to live better lives. There is nothing mad about that.” Tommen didn't like how his voice was so calm and serene - it made you want to listen intently to what he said and that was when you were caught in his trap.

  “They only are living that way because they are scared of being dragged through the streets by your men. Fear shouldn’t be a tool used to gain obedience.”

  “Fear is sometimes the only tool. The sooner you learn that, my king, the better the chances are that you will stay on that throne. It is a dreadful thing that I have to do but I do it to save these people from themselves.”

  “They survived many years without the Faith controlling their lives.”

  “And look what happened. They fell into disrepute, into lives full of sin and darkness. And that was down to rulers before you not properly overseeing them. Blinded by their own selfish needs. You can change all that.”

  “How?” He was caught in the trap.

  “The Crown and the Faith don’t have to be separate entities opposing one another. Throughout the history of this city, they have often worked together to create a more peaceful community. We could continue that. You have the power to decide that.”

  “That was my purpose for coming here today. I understand that I cannot remove you from the city…”

  “Well you can. You are the king after all. But the fact that you have already dismissed that possibility gives me hope that you are seeing a more reasonable conclusion.”

  “The Crown and the Faith should rule together. I would still have the final say on matters, as is my right, but your needs would be taken into consideration more. You could even have a seat in my Council.”

  “I don’t need a seat like that. I’m not after power. I work for my beliefs and to make people see the better ways of living, without our need for luxuries and approval.”

  “I understand that. And I will make it so that your message is heard more often. But only if your men remove themselves from my streets. Let people make their own choices. And then we can begin to deal with the outliers.”

  “Outliers such as the Queen Regent?” Tommen nodded slightly at the question, not wanting to utter the words that condemned his mother. “She wouldn’t approve of our meeting. I am proud that you are finally shaking her off your back. She would slowly poison your mind with her schemes and dark thoughts.”

  “What would happen to her?”

  “At the moment, nothing. She has not been tried for any sins that I know of. But, if she opposes us too strongly, or we hear of any of her sins, then she will be persecuted based on the findings of a group of seven Septons. It is a fair practice that gives her the opportunity to repent.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “Then the Faith will decide her outcome.”

                                                                                                                 **********

     He stood outside the door of her private quarters. She had rightly been given the largest room on the ship, seeing as she was the Queen and controlled the fleet. He had been waiting there silently for a few minutes now, still debating whether or not he should go through with this stupid plan. Bruda had gotten into his head far too easily for his liking. Yet he was still thankful for the warlock for the advice he had given. He was also surprised with how the older man had opened up to him about his past; his story seemed to get more complicated with each new piece of information. He knew that Daenerys didn't have company - hardly any noise had come from her room since he had been outside there. He knew that this is where she would be otherwise more guards would be on the upper deck protecting her. Although nothing could touch her whilst they were out in the middle of the sea. All it would take was one knock. One little knock. It still represented a giant leap for him though. One that he just couldn’t take. Bruda would be disappointed in him - he had risked it all for love but Jorah was too pathetic a man to blindly leap into the unknown. That’s what his thoughts were saying anyway. He was about to turn around and walk away when the door opened. Daenerys was stood there, surprised at the sight of the Mormont Bear by the entrance. He seemed just as shocked, maybe a little afraid. 

  “This is a pleasant surprise. I was getting a bit bored on my own. I was actually going to see if you wanted to join me. It seems that I don’t have to make the journey now.” She had a smile on her face, which made Jorah step inside against his better judgement when she moved aside to let him in. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No thank you. I just had one with Bruda. I shouldn’t drink too much even if we’re not under threat.”

  “Do you think it wise becoming inebriated in his presence?”

  He laughed. “I trust that man, even though my mind tells me I shouldn’t sometimes.”

  “And why is that? We hardly know him.”

  “He speaks the truth. All the time. It’ll get him killed one day, his brutal honesty. Doesn’t know when to stop his mouth.”

  “And that’s a good enough reason for you?” She was still doubtful.

  “He saved my life.” This got her attention, her head snapping up in alarm.

  “When? He didn't seem to be anywhere near you in the fighting pits so it can’t have been then.”

  “On my journey to you, after capturing Tyrion as your gift, we ran into a problem in Valyria. Stone Men surrounded us. I made sure they didn't get him. Put my body on the line.” He subconsciously looked down at his arm where the infection had been. Daenerys followed his eye line and grabbed hold of his arm gently, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a light faded scar.

  “Greyscale,” she whispered. “It should have been incurable. Why didn't you tell me?” She was angry at him for withholding such important information about his safety. Angry that she could have lost him so easily.

  “I wasn’t your favourite person at the time. I didn't think you’d care that much. It should have done your job for you and killed me.”

  She looked into his eyes intently, trying to show the feelings she had. “I always cared about you Jorah.”

  “I betrayed you, your Grace. You shouldn’t have.”

  “And I’ve forgiven you for that. Please remember that. You won’t be effective by my side if you are still stricken with the guilt of the past.” She got a nod in response. “Bruda managed to cure you then?”

  “In the cell, yes. It was like a simple wave of the hand for him. But it eventually worked. I think the outcome surprised him just as much as it did me.”

  “I should bestow all the gold in the world on that man when I sit on the throne. I will be forever grateful to him.”

  “Don’t tell him that. He’d become even more unbearable.” He liked how she laughed at his comment. Life seemed simple right now, just the two of them. Not worrying about what was to come. “Before, in his cabin, he was telling me a story of how he lost someone he loved.”

  “He is full of so many secrets, that man. I feel sorry for him, having so many stories. It must be tiresome trying to remember them all at times. Why was he telling you such a story?”

  He didn't want to tell her. Why did she have to ask? Why had he even mentioned the conversation? “You know what he’s like. He enjoys rambling.”

_ He’s avoiding something. _ “It just seems that it is a private tale. One that wouldn’t come up unless prompted.

_ Does she know. She’s too insightful for her own damn good.  _ “I went to him to discuss something that has been on my mind recently.” Maybe she’d leave it at that, wouldn’t probe any further.

  “Your thoughts are on a woman then? If that story comes up.”  _ Still probing. Was she standing closer?  _ He couldn’t trust his voice so just nodded slightly. She picked up on it. She looked into his eyes and saw the truth, those pits of deep blue conveying raw emotion. “I wouldn’t think of you as someone so confused with the fairer sex, Jorah. Fights you can deal with but women scare you?”  _ Was she teasing him? _

  “She is more than simply a woman.” Why was he still talking? He had come this far, surely he could take that final step. Bruda had told him to be brave. He sighed gently. He’d kill that man for convincing him to do this. “Tyrion was right, you know.”

  “About what?” She knew exactly what he was talking about but wanted to hear him say it properly.

  “I do love you Daenerys.” He couldn’t look at her, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. But I thought you should know. It won’t affect the way I serve you. I will continue to fight for you. Unless you want me to leave when we reach Braavos.” He didn't want to see her face, worried that she would be angry or confused.

  “I already told you that I need you. I always will. This doesn’t change anything about that. Well, it changes one thing.”

  “And what is that?” 

  “Look at me.” He did so. Her face, whilst he expected an expression of disgust or maybe even embarrassment for him, was filled with a smile, her white teeth shining in the faint light of the room. She closed the distance between them, cupping his face with her small hands. She stood on her tiptoes as she finally did something she had wanted for a number of years. She had wanted to experience what it felt with him. They shared something more than love. Something more than what she and Drogo had, something definitely more than what she and Daario shared. She closed her eyes as she kissed him deeply.


	11. Returns and Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next steps towards battle and victory are taken across Westeros and Essos

They were getting close to Braavos. They hadn’t run into any trouble so far on their journey. He didn't know if that was a good sign or that all their collective bad luck would arise when they reached their destination. The people who ran the Iron Bank were difficult to please, which was the main reason their support was sought after. It would send out a message to the people of Westeros. The problem was trying to please them or get their attention. A large fleet of ships like the one they currently possessed would possibly make them look up from all their papers about money. They needed to get them to stand up in shock and awe. He suspected that the dragons that were soaring above the armada would do just the trick, if they did as they were told. Daenerys would have to learn how to control them soon if the bankers were to consider her attempts at conquest. 

  Jorah stood by the wooden railing at the side of the ship, overlooking the turquoise water calmly splash up the ship he was on. His thoughts soon turned to Daenerys. He hadn’t expected the events of the previous night to happen but he was happy that they did. She had kissed him. Properly. A kiss that spoke of the emotion and feeling that connected them. He hadn’t let her take it any further; he didn't want to disrespect her in any way. He was definitely content with this new development. He just didn't know how they would go about the coming days, how they’d interact with each other. He hoped that they would simply continue the way had been like previously, with the possibility of more private interactions to come when they had the chance.

  He heard the thud of metal on the wooden planks that the ship was composed of. He didn't need to turn around to see who it was. Bruda sidled up next to him, not saying anything. He looked out to the sea just like Jorah was doing, silent. He occasionally glanced at the knight, trying to determine from his facial expression how the night had gone for him. Jorah would never willingly tell him about it unprompted.

  “How is my favourite little lovebird this morning?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

  “Quite content,” came the reply. Still no telling whether it had been a positive outcome or not. He was infuriating at the best of times.

  “Quite content? What the fuck does that mean? Did you actually go see your undying love or have a nice, filling meal instead?”

  Jorah looked at the man next to him. He wouldn’t give up the questioning until he got a proper answer. He was the only reason why he had gone through with his plan. He owed it to him to at least tell him. “I told her.”

  “Well you haven’t got a knife in your chest so that’s a good sign. Did she say anything in response?”

  “Not much.” He wasn’t going to make this easy for the warlock. Where was the fun in that?

  “She didn't say much, hmm? So why are you currently stood here with a little stupid smile on your face. It’s unnatural for you. You’re normally frowning, or glowering.”

  “She didn't say much because, soon after my confession, she...kissed me.” Bruda whipped his neck round so fast that Jorah thought it might have fallen off. The mage was scanning his face to tell if he was speaking the truth. He broke into a devious smile.

  “Ha! I told you this would happen.” He lifted his staff in the air, sending blue sparks into the air, causing the other people on deck to look over at them. Jorah shoved his arm down to stop the theatrics before someone asked what had happened. He didn't think that Daenerys would want this to be fast spreading news for the time being. 

   “Will you...be quiet?” he whispered, already annoyed that he had told the secret. Bruda would probably use it against him. In the most awkward of ways, judging from what little he had seen of how the wizard’s scheming mind worked. “It was just a kiss. Nothing more. No admissions of love or anything. Don’t get too carried away.”

   “But you gladly would have admitted your love as soon as she looked at you? Would have got on your knees and begged her to say she reciprocated your feelings?”

  “That isn’t the point.”

  “What isn’t the point?” The woman in question had taken them unawares, silently walking up behind them as they conversed. She was curious as to what they would be talking about so secretly. And she didn't mind looking at Jorah when she had the opportunity. She had a smirk on her face as they both floundered, especially her knight.

   “Oh...nothing, khaleesi. Just talking about...things.”  _ So convincing. _

   “Things?” she responded, disbelief clearly evident in her voice. “I thought I advised you not to speak too much to our friend here. You might go mad. Or catch something.”

  “Excuse me, your Grace!” When she looked at her, daring him to carry on speaking, he thought it safer to stop whilst he still had a tongue. Jorah was dumbfounded at how she could easily make the other man cower, normally a person of so much confidence.  _ Very impressive  _ he thought.

  “I thought I’d still take the risk. He doesn’t know many people here. Thought I’d keep him company.” Bruda eyed him dangerously, not appreciating the implications that  _ he  _ needed Jorah. 

  “That’s very thoughtful of you. I’m still wondering what things you were whispering about though.”  _ Still insightful _ he moaned in his head. 

  “Just...tactics. About how we approach our arrival in Braavos.”

  “And you thought you’d rather discuss this with him than me? I should be jealous.” The smile gave it away that she was just messing with him. This was a new aspect of their relationship, it seemed. “I’m still not convinced. I’ll have to get you to tell me later someway or another.” She enjoyed how his eyebrows shot up at that comment. Bruda felt incredibly awkward whilst they...flirted? Was this flirting? It had definitely changed since his day. “But I also came over to speak with Bruda as well.”

  “Then it is my lucky day. What can I do for you, your grace?”

  “It came to my attention recently that you saved Jorah’s life without my knowing.” He sent a glance at the knight, who was purposefully avoiding his gaze. “Had I known, I would have treated you a bit better than I have so far. I wanted to tell you of my gratification in person.”

  He bowed slightly. She didn't really know if it was on the border of mockery. She let it slide anyway. “It was nothing, my Queen. Stopped him moaning for a while, until we realised that you also needed saving. And I know how much you need him, even if you say otherwise.”

  “I fully know how much I need him. I have never said anything different. And he now knows that, as he should have a long time ago.”

  “Oh I bet he does.” He said it under his breath but she still heard.

  “What was that, Bruda?” She looked at Jorah, an accusatory expression on her face.  _ So that’s what they were talking about. I must be on his mind then. _

  “Hmm?” He tried acting innocent, something he ultimately failed at. “Nothing. Nothing. Just a cough.”

  “I did tell you that you might catch something in his presence Jorah. I should go get ready for our arrival. It won’t be long now. Behave, you two.” Jorah nodded his head, whilst Bruda bowed again. They watched as she walked away, Jorah’s eyes lingering a bit longer. They stood in silence for a moment, before Bruda ruined the quiet piece.

  “Blimey. The sexual tension was palpable.” Jorah walked away from him at that, shaking his head at the warlock’s words.

                                                                                                            **********

  She sauntered through the brightly lit corridors on the Red Keep as if she owned the place. She practically did now, ruling the kingdom by the side of her King. The situation in the streets below may have been getting worse by the day but, for her, the future held a lot of promise. And the future was the main topic on her mind at the moment as she walked with purpose through the palace. She had sent Tommen away to begin the process. He hadn’t returned yet, which either meant the discussion was a long one, showing promise of success, or that he had been made their prisoner. She doubted that the latter had occurred. If it had, she’d bring the whole force of the Crown down on those religious fanatics. So far, they had not pushed past the boundaries yet but, if they were to try their luck, then they would be met with strong and resolute punishment.

  Her part of the process was getting advice on what course of action was best to next take. She was seeking the help of the only person she truly trusted in Kings Landing. She always could be trusted to have a scheme brewing, at least. Her grandmother often was perceived as appearing meek and mild-mannered by people who casually passed her by but she couldn’t be any further from that. Olenna Tyrell was a ferocious woman who used all her years of experience to full effect. She knew the political landscape. The Tyrell family was not a powerful one on paper. They had a moderately sized army and a well constructed defence if necessary. Yet she had surged them up the hierarchy, using the Reach’s fertile lands as persuasion for political alliances. And now the Tyrell name was at the top of the tree. If anyone could help them further cement their place there, it would be Olenna. 

  She kept mainly to her living quarters whilst she stayed with her granddaughter, unless she was going to a council meeting. That’s where Margaery arrived, knocking twice before being allowed entry. Olenna was sat next to a golden table, drinking a glass of wine as she overlooked the view of the city. 

  “It stinks of shit. Even from high up here,” she muttered, disdain for the place evident in her voice. She had never been one for pleasantries, although she was definitely less sour towards her favourite family member. Margaery was growing up to be just like her, using her beauty and figure to get what she wanted from stupid cattle that ran the kingdom. Her mind was always planning, always thinking of what she could use to her advantage. She might just survive this world if that continued.

  “I know you don’t like it but I’m happy that you stayed here with me. I can count on you to talk to and give me advice.”

  “Of course, dear. I could never leave you in this wretched place. I’d never forgive myself, leaving you to fend for yourself.”

  “I can fend for myself though.”

  “Is that why you’ve come to me then? For advice, as you put it?” 

  “You taught me to always use the tools that I have access to. Right now, you’re exactly what I need.”

  “Is that so?” she questioned, her curiosity peaked for the time being. “And what is it that you want to discuss?”

  Margaery sat down in the chair opposite to the older woman and thought over her words before she spoke. “Tommen is slowly coming to realise that he is the one with power now. The remaining obstacle is his mother. I still feel as though, if forced to, he would choose her over me, which can’t happen. Although that sense is slowly diminishing.”

  “I wonder how you’re making him realise all this.” Her sarcastic tone was met with a devilish smirk. “I trust you have already thought about some things you could do to rectify this.”

  “More than that. I persuaded Tommen to have a meeting with the High Sparrow, which he’s currently doing.” Olenna’s eyes widened slightly.

  “I’m impressed. Your enemy’s enemy is your friend, I suppose. Are you expecting some sort of alliance with him and his followers?”

  “Hopefully. It will reduce the tension across the city, making the process of ruling easier for us.”

  “But also removes some pressure off Cersei Lannister’s back.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I’ve come to you. The Faith would only consider going against her if she was found to have sinned. That’s the only reason they ever persecute people. Their belief makes them frustratingly moral and unwilling to go against their system.”

  “But it also makes them predictable, which we can use to our advantage, if we’re clever.”

  “We’d just have to prove to them that she has sinned in the past.” Olenna considered her granddaughter. She knew of one such secret and had been saving it to use when the right time appeared. Now seemed like an opportune moment to strike, whilst the Lion was declawed.

  “Well, I have got something to tell you concerning  _ our Queen.” _

                                                                                                            **********

  The journey back to Castle Black had been arduous, especially with their increased numbers. Yet Jon was still in high hopes with their relative success. It was like Mance had said - they had never expected so many of the tribes to agree to their terms. And yet they had. And they had followed them past the wall into unchartered territory for them. He had given them a days rest before the majority of them continued towards Winterfell. Stannis would be ecstatic with their additional numbers, with it probably tipping the battle odds slightly in their favour. At least he would be happy with it. Thorne had been glaring at him whenever they made eye contact. He was frustrated at how many of the Free Folk had followed them, mainly because it was putting an extra strain on their resources. That stress though would lessen when they continued on their march so Jon made sure to ignore the constant looks out of courtesy towards the Lord Commander. He could also tell that many of the men weren’t pleased with their situation - they were having to leave their families to fight a war that wasn’t theirs. Jon wanted to be sympathetic towards them but knew that it had to be done. Something inside him kept telling him that Winterfell would be crucial in the Great War. Wildling swords on their side greatly increased the chances that his home would be returned to him, or at least Stannis for the time being, who didn't show any signs of wanting to keep the castle once he had achieved success. 

  The next day had come quickly, with the sun shining above them doing nothing to dampen the cold. He had got his men up early, not wanting to keep Stannis waiting any longer than he already had. He was sat on a white stallion, Mance and Tormund either side of him on their own horses. Jon had been surprised at how well Mance was coping with riding after his injury the last time they were here. Rayder had told him that wildlings were a tougher species and that was that. When everyone was in the courtyard, most of them not on horses, they began marching south. Jon looked back at Castle Black, a place that had been his home for a few years now. It was likely that he would never see the place again. It hadn’t been the warmest of places but it had provided him with invaluable friends and memories. He thought of Sam, wondering whether he had seen any success as well. He hadn’t heard anything from the Tarly boy since his departure, which worried him. It was a difficult journey that he had embarked on. But Jon had to worry about his own journey now.

  It was another three days before they got close to where Stannis had set up his base camp. Jon, Mance and Tormund had rode ahead of everyone else to greet Stannis and to ensure their men weren’t met with hostility. He was glad that he had done that because the three of them were met with a flurry of swords as they entered the camp. The soldiers that surrounded them slowly parted in the middle as Stannis, flanked by Davos and Melisandre, approached them. He surveyed the condition they were in. The lack of injuries, except Mance’s which he had seen happen, was pleasing. It meant whatever men they had were probably in good condition.

  “You’ve finally arrived,” Stannis said to them. He wasn’t a person who liked to wait.

  “Yes, your Grace,” replied Jon. “It was a difficult journey but I think you will be happy with the outcome.”

  “How many men?”  _ Cutting straight to the point. _

  It was Mance who replied. “Of those that survived an encounter with the White Walkers before we arrived.” Some of the men around them winced at the mention of those creatures. “Roughly 1200 men. Currently waiting to be accepted by you.”

  Stannis slowly nodded. “That’s more than I expected. Thank you for your effort. Your contribution won’t be forgotten.”

  “All I ask is that ma men be treated well by you and your men. Or I’ll order them to head back North.”

  Jon expected the Baratheon to bristle at that but he remained calm. “I promise you that they will. They are my men as much as the ones already here. And, if I see any unrest, the culprits will be punished accordingly. No matter what side they are on.”

  “Agreed. We’d best get settled then.” Mance and Tormund turned away on their horses to meet up with the waiting Free Folk. Jon got off his horse, it being walked away by one of Stannis’s men. The crowd was slowly dispersing - Stannis and Melisandre headed back to the main tent at the same time. Davos was the only one remaining, stood looking at Jon whilst standing in the mud.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, a chuckle coming after he spoke.

  “Did you miss me or something, Davos?” Jon said with a smile.

  “Something like that. Without you, I only have Stannis to talk to and he’s fully focused on what’s ahead of us. You’re more entertaining, although still just as miserable at times.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. I think.”

  “How have your travels faired for you?” They began slowly walking through the camp.

  “Better than expected. I was worried we’d be met with forces of the undead. We just missed them.”

  “And the wildlings survived?” The shock was very evident in Davos’s voice.

  “Most of them. They planned ahead. Managed to hide from them for long enough.”

  “I’m guessing you won’t be allowing us to use that tactic in the coming war?” Davos already knew the answer, which explained his light tone as he spoke.

  “You know that it’s down to us to take the fight to them. You could always head south, save yourself. I wouldn’t think less of you.”

  “Snow, I don’t have anything left to fight for. My son died right in front of me. My wife doesn’t even know that. I can’t face her now. I love her dearly but we are not the conventional couple. Any money I have left can be sent to her. You know, I was just a smuggler before I came into Stannis’s circle. I was nothing, an outlaw. By fighting by your side, I can finally prove to myself that my life was worth something.”

  “I would be honoured if you fought with me. But I think that little girl will argue about your worth.”

  “Shireen? Aye. She means a lot to me too. If I have any reason to fight, it’ll be her. But we have another war to worry about first.”

  “When do we begin the offensive?”

  “Well, you’re now here with an abundance of men and we’re going to lose resources within the week, if we’re lucky. That means soon.”

                                                                                                      **********

  They hadn’t been stopped as their main ships sailed into the port of Braavos, with the majority of the fleet waiting on the outskirts, ready if anything went wrong. For the time being, Daenerys stayed aboard her ship with Jorah and Bruda by her side. She had sent Varys and Tyrion ahead to meet with the bankers first to give them the opportunity to welcome her without having to be prompted. It was an unlikely outcome but she would not give her opponents the chance to deem her just a conqueror. She could still manipulate the political scene even if she didn't approve of it.

  Varys and Tyrion walked up the stone steps that led to the entrance of the Iron Bank. It was a gigantic building, designed to be imposing. It was a fortress, representing the strength the people within held. They reached the top step and were met with two large guards. Varys looked at them impassively, not perturbed by their show of power. He wasn’t impressed with brute force - a battle of the minds was what he was more appreciative of. Without a word spoken, the doors slowly opened and the two of them walked in. They were led by the guards into a main chamber. In the middle, sat on a row thrones, were the bankers that would determine Daenerys’s fate. In the middle was Tycho Nestoris, the leader of the bank. He observed them astutely, his beady black eyes scanning the pair. Varys had never liked the man but greatly respected him.

  “Well this is a surprise.” Tycho’s tone made it clear that he was not shocked at all.

  “We’ve been sent on behalf of Queen Daenerys Stormborn to seek your support in her campaign for the throne of Westeros.”

  “You call her queen. I’m not aware of her being crowned. I’d have expected to be aware of such news.”

  “She is the ruler of Meereen and has claim over Astapor and Yunkai.”

  “Was and had. She’s left those cities and her claim to them behind. Don’t try and trick me with these lies. She even lost Yunkai. You failed to mention that.”

  “She has given up her rights to them to actively pursue her main goal.”

  “So she fantasises over an unrealistic dream. And you expect us to meet with you because of this.”

  Tyrion responded. “My lord, it is by no means an unrealistic ambition. She has shown constantly her merit to being a ruler and has Targaryen blood flowing through her veins. If it wasn’t for my family, then she’d be sat on the throne already.”

  “The last Targaryen king was overthrown for a reason. Why would the people want a return to that madness and unsurety?” 

  “Because she is nothing like her father! You can’t judge her on what her family has done in the past.”

  “It is the only thing I can judge her on at the moment! Seeing as she has failed to show herself and give us the courtesy of meeting in person. Instead she sends a Spider and a Lion, two people who worked and were a part of the current regime. You understand why I find this whole thing peculiar.” Tyrion was going to continue the argument when a loud roar was heard in the distance. They all looked towards the glass dome above them. The flapping of wings resonated from the outside world. Then a thud rumbled from the roof as something unknown landed. Small bits of stone fell to the floor under the pressure. More roars came from two other directions as the bankers shifted in their seats. Scratching of claws on the walls outside soon surrounded them. One banker screamed in terror as he glanced up to the circular window in the ceiling. He was met with the glinting eyes of a beast, blinking back at him as it scrutinised the people inside. The dragon bared its teeth in a show of power and scratched at the glass that separated them. The wall to their right began to cave in as another dragon swung its tail to cause any damage it could to the building. The men didn't know what to do and looked to their leader as more roars, or possibly cackles of fire, rang out. The monster above took off again, joining its comrades in attacking the stone walls as they strived to get in. The bank wouldn’t last much longer. It was a miracle that it was still standing under all this pressure. It was a blessing that the dragons were not using their full strength or ability to produce fire otherwise it was incredibly likely that they would be dead. They knew that this exercise was being used to send a message and, frankly, it was working effectively. Tycho, his calculating gaze now replaced with one of fear and acceptance, looked at Varys, who smirked in response.

  “It seems your wish is being granted. Daenerys wants to meet with you now.” As he finished, he grabbed hold of Tyrion as they rushed towards the door as larger pieces of stone and shards of glass began to fall to the floor. The bankers stood up, one being quickly crushed by the tumbling debris, as the bank began to fall at the knees of the Targaryen.


	12. Fire and Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys faces a moral conundrum over her actions as she arrives in Braavos

Sam hadn’t told Gilly what they were planning. She would only worry anyway and probably try and stop them. She’d think too much about the risk to his safety than the overwhelming chances that this could change the course of the war that approached them. If they succeeded here today, which still wasn’t for certain by any means, then they might be the ones remembered in the history books. That was if anyone survived. He couldn’t think negatively, especially when a strange sense of hope had overcome him when had been told by Marwyn what he planned. They were walking briskly through the cobbled streets of Old Town, trying not to garner too much attention from the people milling around the place. It was worth the odd looks though - they didn't realise how huge this would be, although they might found out depending on what happened up in the tower. They were headed to Hightower, which sat on top of Battle Isle in the nearby port. Its flame helped guide ships come into the bay without crashing. Sam was worried that the light may be distinguished if they made a mistake yet it was worth the risk. Marwyn, walking at a faster pace than Sam thought possible for the portly man, was carrying a small box in his right hand that contained the dragon egg. It had been transferred from the larger trunk as the maester had deemed it too cumbersome and heavy. 

  They eventually reached the edge of the bay and looked up on the lighthouse. At the top of it was their goal, the swirling ball of fire that acted as a beacon for sailors. They ambled down slippery stone steps towards where a small boat was waiting for them. Marywn had called up on a favour he was owed by one of the local fishermen and had made sure that the dinghy was ready for when they arrived. He placed the box in first delicately and then got in himself, making sure not to capsize the boat with his added weight. Sam got in next and grabbed the two oars. Being the younger of the two, it was expected of him to do more of the heavy lifting in their plan. As Marwyn unhooked the rope that tethered them to one side, they slowly drifted away from the mainland. After the brief moment of rushed walking, a strange peace settled around them as they made their way across the water.

  “How are we going to get into the tower? It’s not exactly public property.”

  “Oh, me and Lord Hightower share a long history. He owes me something after I discreetly sent him some rather splendid fruit that arrived from Dorne. It was given with the purpose of being examined to see how they grew in different climates but even I can give into temptation sometimes.” Sam wondered if he had a number of people across the city who owed him favours. It was an effective tool of maintaining your standing and being able to achieve more.

  “So we can just walk right in?”

  “Hightower isn’t in at the moment. I made sure to study his routine whilst I visited him. He chooses this time every two weeks to go out and buy new writing supplies. He doesn’t have much else to do up there on his own apart from write. And all he has up there with him are his notes and books. The Hightower fortune is kept hidden away in some rock face in another part of the coast. That means he never sees fit to lock the entrance when he leaves, making our task a lot easier.” Sam was surprised with how easy it all sounded; Marwyn must have been planning this for months, or even years.

  “It’s going to be a long walk up those steps in there.” Sam didn't know if he’d actually make it; a sweat was already beginning to form on his brow from rowing the boat. He wasn’t sure about Marwyn’s chances either.

  “It has to be done. We can’t get too close to the flame itself or we’ll be roasted alive. I’ll get as close to it as possible and then throw the egg into the fire. And then we’ll wait.” The boat knocked against the rocks that formed the small island the tower was on. Sam tied the rope to a large, sharp piece of protruding rock to attach the boat and helped Marwyn onto the rubble. With the box in hand, he walked towards a small door in the wall of the lighthouse and pushed it firmly. Thankfully, it budged under his pressure, a loud creak coming from the ancient wood and metal hinges as it swung to reveal a passageway. They stepped inside and looked up at all the steps. They shared a glance, Sam trying to give a comforting smile but Marwyn just sighed. They began the trek up.

  Sam thought they had clambered up the stairs for hours on end. As they got further up, the heat began to intensify as they neared the ball of wildfire. It soon became unbearable and they stopped by a small window. Sam made sure not to look down otherwise he probably would have been sick. He instead looked towards the fire. It seemed to attempt to reach fiery tendrils towards them, as if it sought to destroy anything living.

  “A few centuries ago, a group of maesters used magic to contain the wildfire and keep it burning. Otherwise it would have devastated the city as soon as they put it in place. It’s a miracle we can get this close but, to have a better shot, I need to get closer.”

  “You can’t! The flame is far too strong, you’ll be incinerated!”

  “I have to take the risk. We only have one shot at this. I’m old, Tarly. If I die but succeed in the process, then I’ll be content.” Sam wordlessly nodded. Marwyn bent down and took the egg out of the box with a thin sheet of cloth. He didn't say a word as he slowly took the steps further to the fire, eventually going round the corner, out of view of Sam. The heat was like nothing he had experienced before. He reached a point where he thought he could throw the egg. His skin was already blistering, his screams echoing around the tower. Rushing slightly, he launched the egg into the flame, watching it hurtle into bottled devastation. As he did so, he quickly made his way back down to Sam, weary after the strenuous effort. Sam closed the distance, helping Marwyn gather himself, sitting him on the cold step. 

  “Did you do it?”

  “...yes.” His voice was quiet, exhausted yet still carried the pride of the old man. “We’ll have to wait now and see if it worked out as I thought.” They sat looking at the flame, getting lost in its madness and anger. It was only a few minutes before Sam suddenly stood up in alarm. Marwyn was startled by his actions. “What is it? What do you see?”

  “I don’t know. Something moved in there.” Marwyn groaned as he fought to find the energy to stand up but soon was next to Sam, staring intently at the light. And there it was. Standing out against the green flame with its leathery orange appearance. A wing.

                                                                                                           **********

  She walked calmly through the wreckage, walking into the broken chamber through the large stone doors that were left clinging on to their hinges. She was a figure of serenity against the ensuing chaos. By her side were Jorah and Bruda, with Varys and Tyrion now behind them after making sure it was safe to enter the building. She had ordered her dragons to retreat for the time being, although not too far away in case she needed them again to make her point. Jorah was surprised that they had listened to her command - she was making more progress than he realised. As they walked into the mess, pieces of rock still falling from the wall, they observed the results of her actions. Daenerys noted a few of the bankers hadn’t been able to evacuate safely in time, their bodies laying motionless across the floor, either crushed by the tumbling rocks or severed by shards of glass. She continued walking though, not paying them any notice. They had happily sat here whilst they ruined people’s lives to make sure they lined their pockets. Their deaths were regrettable but not something that she should dwell on for too long. That’s what she kept telling herself, to ensure her mask of power and composure did not slip. Tycho, even in this position, would not give into her if he was still not impressed.

  She spotted him sitting on the floor, his right arm bleeding from an injury caused by the debris. He looked up at the approaching party, fear still in his eyes as the vision of the dragon neared him. And yet this time, it was the mother of dragons. The person who had set her  _ beasts  _ on them. She didn't say anything as she stood in front of the broken man. Bruda eyed her warily, not liking the path she was taking here. He broke from the group, not noticing the glare he received from her, and crouched by Tycho. He tried pushing himself from this new man but Bruda took a hold of his injured arm as he examined it. 

  “Shh, don’t fight me right now or you’ll make it worse. The last thing I want here is another dead body. There’s already been enough needless casualties.” He said that last part louder so that Daenerys could clearly hear him, looking back at her to force his message. She didn't look impressed, whilst Jorah tried to tell him to stop with his eyes. “The cut isn’t bad. You’re very lucky. Once this is done, I can help you or you can go find some healer in the city. I don’t care which way you choose.” He helped him sit up onto a large piece of stone next to them. Once he made sure he would be okay, he wandered back to the others, after receiving a grateful nod from Tycho. He paid Daenerys no acknowledgement as he walked up to take up his previous position next to Jorah. It was she who spoke next.

  “Do you still question my chances or claim to the Iron Throne?” He shook his head slightly, wincing as he did so. “Will you back me in my quest.”

  “What do you want from us? Money?”

  “I never came here for money. I have enough gold to last me for my journey. All I wanted was respect from you, acceptance. You thought ill of me because of my father. Know that I will not be like him. I seek to unite the people of Westeros, not divide them further.” He was surprised with how her tone changed so quickly.

  “Normally respect has to be earned.”

  “If any other person had accomplished what I have in such a short time, you would have given me your respect and support a long time ago. Yet you didn't because bankers don’t normally gamble. You knew that the assured way of increasing your profits was to carry on backing the Lannisters.”

  “In fact, as I’m sure the imp will have told you, the Lannisters are massively behind in their repayments. Their debts increase daily, so much in fact that we were contemplating cutting them off.”

  “Then you have to choose someone else to back for the Crown. Your faith in the current regime is dissipating. Put that faith in me and I will ensure any support will be repaid.” He didn't contemplate it for long before nodding again. She smiled, relieved that she had succeeded. “Thank you. I apologise for what I had to do today but you realise that without such a show of power, you would never have agreed to join me.” She turned to leave at that, the rest of them joining her. Tycho stopped Varys and Tyrion before they left. They were confused as to what else the man had to say.

  “You said it before. She said it as well. That she is nothing like her father. Look around you. Are you still so sure of that?” Worried expressions appeared on their faces as they turned away without a word. This needed to be addressed with her before too late.

                                                                                                         **********

   Daenerys paced up and down along the deck as she contemplated her actions. They were back on the main ship after she had sealed the agreement with Tycho and what remained of the Iron Bank. She could still see the newly damaged building from here. It had been her only choice. It had to be done to ensure she eventually got the power she deserved. It all came down to power. Was she becoming too obsessed with this need. It was the one thing that truly drove her. But then she remembered the look Tycho had given her as he lay on the floor. True terror. She had never seen anyone look like that towards her, apart from probably Doreah and Xaro when she locked them in the vault for betraying her. Yet it made her feel slightly elated, the fact that she could stand over such powerful people and bring them to their knees. Tycho, of all people, didn't deserve her sympathy. She slumped against the rail as the two battling ideas fought for prominence in her mind. She didn't notice Jorah slowly walk up beside her until he softly placed a hand on her arm. The comforting touch made her feel a bit more at ease but she was still wracked with guilt. The knight could tell.

  “Khaleesi,” he began, the way his deep voice said that title making her shiver. “What you did was necessary. Every leader in history has faced difficult decisions. You had to choose between the lives of the people in the Iron Bank, and only a few died, and the good of the people you will rule over with the Bank’s support.”

  “I know.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “But those men didn't have to die.”

  “No, they didn't. Tyrion came up to me before, worried about the path you were taking.” A flicker of anger across her face was soon masked with an expression of curiosity.

  “And what did you say to him?”

  “The same thing I am telling you now. The fact that you are stopping to take the time to think about your actions, and show remorse and guilt for killing people that wouldn’t have thought twice about killing you, makes you so much a greater person than your father. I will not allow you to fall into the same traps he did.”

  “Thank you Jorah. It also seems that my actions did not go down well with someone else in our party.”

  “Bruda.”

  “He made the effort to visibly stand against me by helping him. That can’t be tolerated.”

  “What I did was not meant to give you any reason to suspect such a thing.” Bruda had snuck up on them somehow. Jorah thought that the water must provide enough noise to drown out footsteps, seeing as Daenerys had done the same before. “I was helping an injured man have some dignity remain whilst you negotiated with him.”

  “A man who you knew was currently against my campaign. And you thought it appropriate to help him?” 

  “Daenerys, you should know by now that I am fully behind you in your quest, otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here right now. But you should remember to still treat your enemies with a modicum of respect when the opportunities are given to you. It would serve you well. If your enemies verge on accepting you, as Tycho now has, then your supporters will inevitably increase.”

  “You should run by this sort of thing by me before you do it.” There was a hint of playfulness returning to her voice.

  “What can I say? I’m a kindred spirit who acts in the moment and deals with the consequences later. That’s what life is for. You will always have regrets - it’s about rectifying them that’s important.”

  “This will get you killed. Possibly by my own enemies who wish to take a valuable and potentially close ally from me. Or by me. I’m not decided on which is the more likely at the moment.”

  “I would have it no other way, your Grace.” He winked, causing Jorah to groan under his breath. “Oh, and did you just say that we’re  _ potentially close?” _ She blushed slightly. The two of them had never seen her blush. 

  “I am beginning to grow fond of your company. Even if you are impossibly infuriating most of the time, you’re quite entertaining.”

  Bruda looked at Jorah. “Don’t get jealous. I wonder what you must have been doing to her to be acting like this.” He chuckled as their eyes went wide, both spluttering for words that weren’t coming. 

  “I...don’t know what you’re talking about, Bruda,” Daenerys stammered. She glanced at Jorah to see what his expression was and quickly turned her head when she noticed he was doing the same. 

  “Right. I would never want to intrude on such romance. Just...make sure I’m never staying in a room next to either of yours.” Jorah was really tempted to punch him but thought better of it. 

  “I’ll...make sure that’s the case when we arrive at Dragonstone. We’ll have a days rest here whilst we wait for the Golden Company to arrive. And to make sure that my men have the chance to touch dry land before the next part of our journey. I think it would be apt that you take a wander, Bruda. Stretch your legs whilst you can. Explore the city.”

  “I know what you’re doing. You gave it away be saying how it was apt for an old man to take a long walk. Your cruelty knows no bounds. But you’re right and I’m nothing but willing to listen to you.” With one final smirk towards Jorah, he walked away.

  “He’s impossible,” Jorah said to her, watching the figure disappear below deck.

  “And his impossibility will help us win.” Jorah nodded in agreement.

  “I’m going to do as you advised, Khaleesi. I think I’ll explore what the city has to offer. It’s probably my last time in this part of the world. I’ll tell Selmy to watch over you in my absence. I shouldn’t be long.”

  “I don’t need protecting all the time. I hope you realise that.”

  “Oh I do. Doesn’t mean I won’t stop worrying about you.” He stopped as he realised what he had said. “You...your safety.” She smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek. He would need to learn to loosen up eventually.

                                                                                                             **********

  Jorah walked calmly through the busy streets of Braavos, squeezing through small gaps in the crowd as he took in the atmosphere of the city. It was a vibrant explosion of culture with so much going on at once. He had walked through the markets of the port, buying a selection of strange foods that Westeros was not fancy to try. Dried fruits, cured meats. He had even had a few oysters from a young vendor who was familiar for a reason that he couldn’t place. It hadn’t bothered him much as he continued to stroll around. It was nice, having a moment to not worry about war or that devilish woman. The same woman who constantly occupied his thoughts, during the day and night. He was obsessed with her. Infatuated with her. And the way she was wont to touch his arm now, or kiss his cheek. It would soon make him collapse, he was sure. He felt like he was the only one with her who could get Daenerys to open up, to be herself. With increasing frequency as of late, she was beginning to resemble a power-hungry lord. It was his job to guide back to the realm of the common people. He had to remind her that her goal was to warm those who were living in the cold with her fire. He believed he was making progress with each day.

  Bruda was also keeping him on his toes. His personality strongly resembled his appearance; crazed and manic. Yet, when he got talking, there was no doubting his wisdom from the many years of life experience he had. He was resolute in his opinions, not often budging when he felt he was right. The problem was that Daenerys was very similar so clashes between them were bound to happen. Yet, for the time being, they were all working well together. Their campaign was on the up. Varys and Tyrion were content with his assurances about Daenerys’s state of mind; Missandei was slowly regaining her exuberant charm after her recent heartbreak; Selmy was nearing a full recovery from his injuries; Daario was happy controlling his section of the army; and they would soon arrive at Dragonstone, which would represent a giant leap forward in her plight.

  He turned down a narrow alleyway to get some peace from the loud and bustling atmosphere. As he continued to walk, he couldn’t help but reflect on the positives that he was being dealt. Not only had Daenerys welcomed him back into her council, she had professed her love for him.  _ Him!  _ A disgraced knight much older than her. He didn't deserve her at all, he felt, but, as long as she wanted and needed him, he would be by her side. And, by being there, he could also admire her.  _ By all the Gods, if Bruda could hear my thoughts. _ Although the warlock liked to tease, Jorah was happy that he could. Ever since he had joined Daenerys, he hadn’t had a male friend or acquaintance. Bruda was filling that gap. The crazed man, with unimaginably strong powers that he had only glimpsed upon. He was an enigma that he and Daenerys wanted to solve.

  He slowly went down a set of steps, heading for the end of the alley to rejoin the explosion of life. He didn't hear or notice the figure slowly approach him. They were silent on their feet, as if they were trained for complete stealth. They jumped onto the wall of the steps without making a sound and made their way to their target. Jorah was still running thoughts through his mind when he felt a sharp point edge into his back to stop him walking. As he came to a halt, alarmed by his own stupidity and carelessness more than actual fear, the assailant whispered into his ear. Their tone was cold, emotionless.

  “You shouldn’t have left the main street. Braavos is more dangerous than your homeland, wanderer.” He felt the knife move from its position at his back. He gulped slightly, putting his hands up to show that he wouldn’t reach for his sword. He then felt the knife placed against his neck.


	13. Capture and Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Daenerys cope with a turn in her campaign?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, comment or hit the kudos button if you like what you read. It's great to hear what you have to say about the story and if you have any suggestions on where the story should go. It's especially important now as we crash through the 50,000 word barrier!

She collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Jorah was shocked more by the clang of metal on the stone floor as the dagger fell from her limp hand. He turned quickly and was greeted with the site of Bruda holding his staff up to where the assailant had been, blue energy gently receding back into the prism on top of the metal. Jorah had never seen the mage look so angry. His face was a contortion of fury as he stepped towards the incapacitated attacker, kicking the body lightly with his boot. He was muttering under his breath, looking at her. His words were whispered fast, indecipherable to Jorah. He could tell that it was common tongue but his angry tone would have confused anyone. He shook his head and glanced at the old Bear. Bruda looked old, stroking his chin in exasperation but also pure tiredness. He felt old as well. This was the last thing they needed. They examined the person - female, seemingly young, brown hair. She looked innocent in the state she was in yet he knew that wasn’t the case. Jorah didn't have a clue who it was, just presuming that it was a local. But then that rose the question why she had decided to attack him. He locked eyes with Bruda, who’s ire became directed at the knight.

  “What?” he innocently asked.

  “You’re incredibly lucky that you’re not the one lying face down on the floor right now. It’s a good job I spotted you walking down here and then our wannabe killer following you. Do you know her?”

  “No. Never seen her. You?”

  “She seems familiar. Like I should be able to piece this all together! It’s bloody infuriating. She seemed very intent in getting to you. But why? Why would a young girl want to attack an old man in cold blood?”

  “I’m not that old.”

  “That’s what you’re focusing on? She wanted you dead. Daenerys is not going to be happy with this. Not in the slightest. And an angry dragon is dangerous for all of us.”

  “Why would she be angry?”

  “Did she bang your fucking head? You were almost killed. She almost lost you for good. I don’t think she’d be able to go on if you died. Seriously. I wouldn’t be able to deal with her. Westeros wouldn’t.”

  “...she’d move on eventually.”

  “Jorah Mormont. Get it into your stupid head. She cares deeply for you. She has completely and utterly fallen for you to the extent where, if you were to die in a dark alleyway in a mysterious city, it would break her. And the last thing she needs right now with this campaign is that amount of emotional upheaval. It would put her off course. I fear it would send her on a dark path. You may not like this, but you need to survive. For her. And therefore for the rest of Westeros. It’s now my job especially to protect you. Mainly from yourself.

  “I don’t need protecting. Focus your energy on Daenerys, she’s more important.”

  “If you carry on like this, I will do to you what I did to this little shit. Do you understand me? I am already tired of saving you. It’s at least twice now! I should be charging you. At my age, I should be relaxing in a small cottage in the countryside somewhere, growing plants and telling stories. Instead I’m stood in a backstreet conversing with you.”

  “I appreciate your efforts. As does Daenerys.” Jorah found it slightly amusing how they were forgetting their was an unconscious body between them whilst they talked.

  “I’d also be wary of her if I were you. When I tell her what happened, because I am so looking forward to doing so, she’s going to be wondering what idiotic thought drove you to walk down here alone. She’ll be furious with you. And once I’ve told her, I’m running away and leaving you to fend for yourself.”

  “...I didn't think about that. I thought you just said that your new job was protecting me?”

  “I can deal with pathetic little girls or infectious disease. I’m not stupid enough to take on that woman. How do you think I’ve managed to survive so long in this world?”

  “Speaking of pathetic little girls, what should we do with her?” He gestured to the body on the floor.

  “What else can we do? We need to take her back to the ship, get everyone together and then find out what her motives were. I’m hoping this was only an isolated event and not the start of a large scale attack. We’re vulnerable whilst we’re here in Braavos. The sooner we get to Dragonstone, the better.”

  “Then we’d best get moving. Maybe we could just dump the body on the ship and then hastily leave before Daenerys finds out what I did.”

  “I like you Jorah. But I did enough running in Meereen. And I want you to realise the full consequences of your mistake so you don’t do something similar again.” Jorah’s sigh was met with a smile and chuckle from Bruda. “Now, our first task is getting the body to the ship. I’m sure none of the locals will bat an eyelid at two men carrying a girl through town, right?”

                                                                                                                      **********

  Her life was falling apart. Her grasp on power crumbled a bit more with each passing day until, soon, there would be nothing left. She’d be reduced to an onlooker, instead of the main player, a position she had grown comfortably accustomed to. It just wasn’t fair. Her son had been taken from her, as had her father shortly after. Her daughter was somewhere in Dorne, supposedly on her way back to the Kingdom. She doubted that she’d agree. There was nothing left in this ruin. Tommen grew more distant by the day, meaning her hold on him had slipped. He was under the control of the Tyrell girl now. She had to begrudgingly commend the younger woman for outplaying her at her own game. That wouldn’t save her from retribution though. She would make sure all those that had wronged her would be suitably punished when the time came. For now, lacking in any real support, especially after Jaime’s departure, she had to lie low to save herself. For the time being, she couldn’t be touched. She was still the Queen Regent, after all.

  Cersei had fallen into the routine of languishing in her chambers for most of the day, sipping wine whilst contemplating how to rectify the situation. She didn't venture out much, only wandering the corridors of the Red Keep to keep her occupied and to remind people that she did, in fact, still exist. The King’s Council would always reconvene if she attempted to take her place during their discussions. Those leeches would be the first to go. They were letting the power go to their heads. Cersei despised how two members of the Tyrell family were also whispering in Tommen’s ear. And that dithering old fool Pycelle was always suggesting that he move from the traditional way of ruling. The traditional way had got them this far, why would it fail them now? The Lannisters had grown their reputation over decades, preserving their power above all else. Yet it now lay in ruins, even if they were still sat on the throne. Tommen had always been the weakest of her two sons. She doubted if he would still amount to anything other than a puppet.

  The sun was intently bearing down on the city, as if it was making up for the return of Winter that the maesters said would soon be upon them. She was currently staring out amongst the crowded buildings and the constant movement of people. They were ants from this vantage point, nothing more than cogs in a system that kept her where she was. She was startled when her door swung open and she moved to see who it was. She was surprised to see that it was Tommen, clad in fine green clothes and his golden crown. He held himself differently, more assured of himself.  _ Was the position changing him for the better? _ It was the first time he had interacted with her for at least a week. He always came running back to her eventually like the little child he still was.

  “Tommen, it is so good to see you.” She plastered a smile on her face, not wanting to make a mistake in this unexpected opportunity to regain some standing. He smiled at her gently but he still seemed nervous about something, wringing his hands as he spoke.

  “I can say the same to you, mother. It has been far too long. I have just been too busy to see you, with so many people wanting to speak with their king. I hope you accept my apology.”

_ So he was regretful and wanted her to stay in his life.  _ She could work with this. “Nonsense. It is your duty as king to see to that your loyal subjects remain loyal and obedient. By giving them even a moment of your time, they will be forever grateful to you.”

  “I don’t want people to just be obedient because of the crown I wear. I want them to respect me for the work I do, for my accomplishments that I hope to achieve.”

  “Tommen, it is your right as king to be respected. The sooner you learn that, the sooner you can use that to your advantage. With the right people by your side, you can accomplish anything you want. And no one would question you, otherwise they would be rightly punished for treason. The system we have is designed to help us. Don’t doubt its usefulness.”

  “That’s one of the reasons why I came to speak with you today.” She tried to act shocked that he realised that he needed her.

  “Oh, well, I guess I thought your council was severely lacking in family support. It must be difficult with people trying to persuade you to do their bidding. I would of course offer my services to help you, as any mother should.”

  “I think you have the wrong idea, mother. I am perfectly happy with my council. They provide me with different perspectives on how to rule more effectively. And are helping me forge new alliances.” She did not like the sound of that.

  “Alliances? What possible alliances would you need right now? I haven’t heard anything of this.”

  “Because you’re not on my council. I have been beginning to work with the High Sparrow to enable our city to go in peace.” The colour drained from her face. The last thing she needed was that fanatic suggesting inane ideas to the people with actual power.

  “The Sparrow? Who suggested that? That would only be beneficial to him. It serves you no purpose to be in cohorts with him.”

  “Actually, again you’re mistaken. I had a very productive meeting with him earlier. We were discussing matters when we were interrupted by Margaery, who was bringing concerning news. We deliberated and came to a simple conclusion that will help me go on to properly rule as king without people trying to sabotage me with their own wants and needs.”

  “Like I suggested then. You would have needed to have only come to me to discuss this and would have been given the same advice without jeopardising your position.”

  “I doubt you would have given the same advice.” Something was wrong. His tone was cool, nothing like the innocent boy she was used to. She looked to the open door that he had come in through and only now noticed the three guards that stood watching. She turned her gave to Tommen and was met with a resolute glare.

  “I’m concerned with what lies and propaganda you have been fed. You came here today to speak with me, which tells me that you need me. Need my support.”

  “You were right, you know. About one thing at least in what you’ve said today. With the right group of people, I can accomplish anything. Punish those that stand in my way or risk tainting my rule with their sins.”  _ Sins. A word the Sparrow used so often.  _ “You should know that I do have the best people by my side. That should reassure you when you have time to think about your own sins,  _ mother.”  _ Her turned away from her and began to walk out. She tried catching up to him but the guards intercepted her, grabbing her roughly by the arms as they dragged her from her room, not listening to her screams of protest.

                                                                                                              **********

  Daenerys studied the unconscious girl carefully, anger welling up inside of her. She didn't look like anything special. Gave off no sense that she was a killer. That she’d want to take someone so crucial to her away from her forever. She had been tied up on a small wooden chair on the main ship in Daenerys’s chamber so that, when she came to eventually, she could be interrogated properly. She wanted to know why this girl had wanted to kill Jorah, if that was the case. She had already exploded at the knight for his stupid recklessness and foolishness. He had seemed sheepish and had apologised profusely to her. She wasn’t angry at him really, just upset that he could have so easily been lost to her. They had just gotten back together; it would have been a cruel fate to see him go again, this time permanently. They were all in her chamber, waiting for the girl to wake up. Daenerys was closest to her, wanting to do the bulk of the questioning. Jorah was, as was usual, by her side, frequently speaking to her to calm her down slightly. It wasn’t working. Selmy stood watch on deck outside, just in case something was to happen. The attack had put them all on high alert as they prepared to leave the next day. Tyrion was quietly conversing with Missandei whilst they waited, talking about every topic under the sun. They had grown to spend a lot of time together, often spending evenings in each others company, drinking wine and just talking. The friendship suited them both. It helped Missandei move on from her grief and allowed Tyrion to talk to someone more amiable than Varys. The eunuch was currently off to one corner of the room, already knowing who the girl was. He had been surprised when he had seen her but had not shown it - he wanted his queen to be told direct from the girl herself so that he wouldn’t be put under her scrutiny as well. Bruda was also stood away from the group, still angry with the attacker. They had thought it best that he not be too close to her when she woke, since it was likely that this time, he wouldn’t hold back. Daenerys’s patience was beginning to wear thin and she turned to the mage, her tone impatient and annoyed as she spoke.

  “What did you do to her exactly? How long do the effects normally last?” 

  “Depends. I put a lot of force into it. Are you wanting to speak to her now?” His face was slightly confused as he glanced around the room, looking at the other people there.

  “Of course I am. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been waiting here for so long.” She didn't want to be dealing with his quirks right now.

  “Oh you should have said.” He waved his hand slightly, a golden glow flaring around the girl before it dissipated, followed by her eyes slowly opening. Daenerys gave him an exasperated sigh, still appreciating the humour and pure absurdity that he brought, especially when Jorah cracked at smile at his comment. Yet she soon regained her serious expression as she turned to the girl.

  She startled as she got a bearing of her surroundings, looking from one person to the next. She was met with the same dark expression on their faces, which made her feel extremely nervous. This hadn’t been part of the plan at all when she confronted the old knight she had observed walking around the city streets. She looked at the woman who seemed to be in charge, trying to play to her persona as a young, innocent girl that she had abandoned many a year ago. 

  “Where...am I?” she asked groggily, hoping that they would let some information slip with which she could work with.

  “You’re in the presence of Daenerys Targaryen, future ruler of Westeros. But, frankly, you’re in no position to ask questions,” Daenerys replied coolly. “We captured you when your attempts to apprehend my knight went wrong. Sadly for you because I’m not feeling too generous today after what you did. You’ll tell me who you are or I’ll allow my friend here to finish the job on you.” She pointed to Bruda who stood up when he was included in the conversation. The girl didn't think he looked like much of a threat, although in her position right now, she’d be easy pickings for anyone. She realised that, if she were to get out of this alive, honesty was her only hope. When it suited her, at least.

  “Ar...Arya Stark.” Jorah’s eyes widened at the admission, as did Tyrion’s. He hadn’t realised it was her, that small girl he had once met back at Winterfell. A few years had passed and she had grown a lot. Her face, one that had been so innocent in the past, was now lined with anger and hatred. She was a different person now. Daenerys looked to her advisors, seeking their confirmation that they thought she spoke the truth.

  “If that is the case, what are you doing in Braavos ?”

  “I had to leave Westeros. Nothing was left for me there, after what the Lannisters did to my family.” It was at this point that she noticed Tyrion, anger flaring in her eyes as she saw a man who had been a part of her misery. She tried fighting against the ropes but that was of no use. They were incredibly tight, cutting into her wrists when she moved. Tyrion walked cautiously towards her.

  “The Lannisters wronged me too. I am not a part of that family anymore. We are on the same side, you and I. Well, I think so anyway.” Arya seemed to calm at his words although she still gave him a calculating look. Daenerys spoke up.

  “That begs the question of what side you’re on, Stark. You attacked my closest advisor and...friend.” She hesitated slightly as she didn't know what their relationship was at the moment. She ignored his confused looks. “That makes me think that you stand firmly against me. If that is so, then I’ll use you as an example to any other people who dare defy me.”

  Arya could see the fire in her eyes and gulped. She had never faced someone like this before. “I never intended to kill him. I saw him leave your ship. We all saw what you did to the Iron Bank. I want to return to Westeros to enact my revenge on my enemies. I thought that, by getting to him, that would buy me passage on your vessel.” Daenerys didn't know whether to believe her or not. She searched her face for any signs that she was lying but her expression was impassive. Again, she looked around the room. Varys stepped forward.

  “I believe she is telling the truth. And, if she is truly who she says she is, then she will want to target the same people we do. It’s another pair of hands that may be useful in your endeavours, my Queen.” 

  “She’s also a Stark,” Jorah said to her. “You’re already forging an alliance with Stannis in the North. I believe her brother works with him too. By having her with you, it may make the process smoother when we eventually meet.”

  Daenerys thought over their words silently. “It seems that you’re in luck. Tomorrow, we set sail for Dragonstone. I’ll grant you a place on my ship and, if everything goes well, I’ll see to it that you can rejoin your brother. But you will be minutely observed by my men and will have guards outside your room when you sleep. If you attempt anything that could harm someone under my authority, then trust me in that I will not hold back in punishment. It would be a shame to start my meeting by explaining how you slipped and fell overboard one night.”

                                                                                                               **********

  The camp was alive with activity as everyone got ready for the trying times ahead. After their arrival to Stannis’s base, it hadn’t been long before he announced that they would begin their battle within the next two days. And that day had finally arrived. Jon was wandering around through the mud, looking at all the men getting their armour on and sharpening their weapons. Some were taking the time to just talk to others, with the knowledge that it would possibly be the last time that they could do such a thing. Jon thought that they had been lucky to have this much time - he was relieved that the Bolton’s were seemingly keeping their men behind Winterfell walls for the time being. Although, when the battle started, he prayed that they would come out into the open, as that would give them the best possible chance of victory. He knew it was a longshot though.

  He walked through the area that had been taken up by the wildling army. What armour they did possess was much cruder than what Stannis’s men owned but their bulkiness and thickness would defend them more effectively from swords and spears. He locked eyes with Mance, who was talking to a small group of his men. They had agreed that he wouldn’t be going with them, since his injury made him more of a burden than anything. He had grumbled about the decision but it had been the right one for everyone. He stopped as he heard a horn blast through the air, signalling that they should all get into their positions.

  He walked briskly to where he could see Stannis and Davos sat on their horses. His own stallion stood waiting by them patiently and he quickly climbed onto it. He noticed that the strange woman, Melisandre, wasn’t with them, which was unusual since she always seemed to be right next to Stannis all the time. Davos, apparently, could tell what Jon was thinking.

  “She’s staying behind. War is no place for a woman. She can stay put here and look after Shireen and her mother.” Jon nodded at the explanation. Davos looked at him, observing his grave expression. “You ready for this, Snow.”

  “Aye. As ready as I ever will be. Just my first time in a proper battle. Fighting the wildlings, it’s just nothing like what I’m about to experience. Less organised, more brutal. In that sense, I should be able to cope with this.”

  “And just remember - we have them on our side this time. Which means that the Boltons will have to face their brutality and...spontaneity, shall we call it? They won’t know what hit em, lad.”

  “You’re more positive than I thought you would be, with what we’re about to do.”

  “Let me tell you two things that you need to remember when heading to battle. One, the moment you lose your positivity and hope is the moment that you get impaled by a sword. You have to go into this thinking that you’ll come out the other side, otherwise it’s a pointless task you’re undertaking.”

  “That makes sense. Just more difficult done than said. And what’s the second point.” Davos looked at him seriously. Jon expected to hear something perhaps philosophical, that would change his life and help him survive this battle and any future wars.

  “Don’t die.”


	14. War and Families

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle for Winterfell takes place. Will Jon help Stannis succeed in defeating the Boltons?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very hectic chapter, as would be expected for a battle. Not like the usual format but I hope you still enjoy. If you do, please comment or hit the kudos button. Support for this story has been great and any messages spur me on to keep writing.

They all stood in formation towards the North of Winterfell, a strange silence descending on the army. Jon looked upon the old castle, the place that he called home. It seemed darker nowadays. He didn't know whether that was because the Boltons had sucked all the life and joy out of the place or because the things he had seen, witnessed and done had changed him so much that he no longer looked at the fortress with the glinting, hopeful eyes of the child but with the worn, colder eyes of the man he had become. He looked over to Davos, who was perched on his horse next to him. The four of them, including Stannis and Tormund, were at the front of the soldiers. Everyone waited for Stannis to shout the order that began the battle.

  They had barely spoken during the short journey to Winterfell. Jon presumed that was because they all wanted to be left with their thoughts as they prepared for what was to come. He sought solace in the fact that the others were in the same predicament as him, although they had more experience of sieges like this. Stannis and Davos had both been involved in the Battle at Blackwater - he hoped that, this time, they would be more successful in overthrowing their opposition. 

  What concerned Jon was that there was no sign of the opposition. They had been able to march freely here and now stood less than a mile than the castle. He wondered whether it was all part of the Bolton’s tactics, either planning to remain within the protection that Winterfell’s walls gave or attempt to take them by surprise. The latter would be quite difficult though - Stannis had ordered that sections of the army be cut off, with one party entering the forest to the East of Winterfell and another heading to the West. That way they could entrap the Bolton and Northern armies within Winterfell. They would only be deployed though if the main army became overrun - it would be no use to see them wasted for no proper reason. Stannis had opted to leave the south unguarded as, if the Bolton’s chose to go that way, they would just be handing the castle to him. Jon thought that it was a decent plan but did not account for how difficult it would be to impregnate his former home.

  They had been stood there for roughly ten minutes with no sign that the Boltons knew they were there still. He looked curiously at Davos, who shrugged, bearing the same expression. Many of the soldiers were glancing around as well, expecting something to happen against the eerie silence that had settled. Jon brought his horse closer to Stannis and his advisor.

  “What’s going on? We expected to be met head on by the Bolton army,” Jon spoke.

  “Maybe they’re just cocky. Don’t think that they have to take us on properly. Either that or they’re just plain fucking stupid. Don’t know which is more likely,” Davos put forward.

  “Whichever one it is, they have given us the advantage. They let us get closer to the castle unabated. We should strike whilst we still have the strength,” Stannis said, seemingly resolute in his decision. The two of them nodded in agreement, seeing no downside in the choice. Stannis began to speak louder to the rest of the men. “Our enemies are too cowardly to face us!” He was met with a roar and the sound of banging metal. “I say we show our enemies what it means to be a proper army!” Another roar, louder this time. “Men, prepare yourselves! March!”

                                                                                                        **********

  Maester Wolkan ran through the dark corridors as fast as his old bones could take him. He headed for Roose’s room, with urgent and desperate news. He knew the head of the Bolton family would be furious when he found out but he had to be told as soon as possible. He didn't even stop to knock on the door, barging through the wooden entrance. Roose was sat looking over notes on a table and raised his head in alarm as Wolkan stormed through.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he barked, angrily, but he then took note of the maester’s grave expression.

  “Stannis and his army are headed right for this castle. They will reach the wall in a matter of minutes.” Roose was filled with anger and fury.

  “How the fuck has this happened? What were the lookers doing up on the walls? If we get through this, I’ll kill all of them. You said that Stannis wouldn’t think about attacking us for at least another few days. What’s changed?”

  “I...I don’t know, my Lord. His army seems larger than we predicted as well.” Roose dragged his hand slowly across his face in frustration, sighing as he did so.

  “I’ll send a message out now to all our men to get any armour they can on. We still have this fort on our side, which should buy us some time.”

  “A good idea, my Lord. If you would like, I would gladly send the message out for you. Allow you to get ready yourself.”

  “You won’t be able to,” Roose said quietly as he walked over to the other man.

  “And...why’s that?” A feeling of dread fell over him.

  “Oh Wolkan. You were an excellent maester. But I must remove all failure if I am to succeed.” He punctuated his sentence by driving a dagger into the chest of the maester, leaving the room as Wolkan grabbed uselessly at the wound, his blood leaving his body quickly as he died.

                                                                                                         **********

  Unbeknownst to the chaos that was beginning to ensue at the Castle, a small group of four people looked on from the edge of the forest. They all shared curious and concerned glances as they crouched in the dense foliage. Jaime looked at Brienne, who’s complexion had gone pale as she saw the army approach Winterfell. They presumed that Sansa was still inside there, which would put her at a huge risk.

  “Well it seems that we arrived just in time,” Bronn whispered. This caused the others to look at him questioningly. “What? They’re going to be preoccupied with a large army going down their throat, which means we have a good chance of sneaking in without being noticed.”

  “It’s a massive risk though,” Jaime replied. Bronn rolled his eyes.

  “Of course it is. But it would be more risky if they weren’t getting shafted right now. This is our best chance of saving the bonny lass.”

  “I hate to say it, but I agree with Bronn.” It was Brienne that Jaime had to turn to now in surprise. “If we avoid the main focus points, where the bulk of the fighting is, such as at the entrance gate, then I think we can get in. And I think I’ve seen a way in.” She pointed to a large mound situated in the open field ahead of them. From her vantage point, she could see that it was hollowed out on one side and hoped that it led under the castle.

  “A secret passageway? Sure, that’s never ended badly,” Podrick whimpered. Brienne ignored him and looked to the other two men. 

  “It’s worth a shot,” Jaime hesitantly agreed. A braver man would argue with the big woman. They all stood up, leaving their horses to stay in the forest. Walking briskly, they made their way over to the mound and soon realised that it was larger than they had thought. Jaime reached it first, and looked inside to see that a stone, damp staircase led down into the depths of the unknown. Shooting a nervous look to the others, he unsheathed his sword and began to tentatively walk down.

  It was dark as they reached the bottom of the stairs and wandered through a cold corridor. The only light they had came ahead of them so they approached the opening. They stopped as they looked around a large cavern, which had a small hot spring in the centre of it. Jaime realised that this must have been what kept Winterfell unnaturally warm in the devastating winters. They slowly circled the body of water, lavishing in its heat, but then halted again as they saw two figures huddled in the corner of the chamber. Jaime stood shocked as he took in their appearance - a young girl wearing tatty clothes and a boy sat in a makeshift cart. A boy that Jaime had a difficult and murky past with.

                                                                                                     **********

   They charged at the gates of Winterfell, roaring loudly as they did so. He spotted enemies lining the walls above them and raised his shield instinctively to protect himself. Davos beside him did the same, not a moment too soon as the man next to them erupted into an explosion of blood as an arrow pierced his skull. Others though had been prepared and shielded themselves from the aerial onslaught, their metal barriers effective enough to protect them from both the arrows and large rocks that were being dropped on them. Multiple ladders were erected on the side of the wall, soldiers quickly climbing them to reach the defenders. The first to go up were the first to fall down, lifeless but, soon, the people above became overrun by the sheer number of attackers. The Bolton army was in pure disarray, which enabled a group of their men to climb over the wall, jump into the main courtyard and prise open the gates. They quickly turned to see the enemy charging at them and were killed in the process. But their task had been completed and Stannis led his men into the chaos. Jon had his sword out, swinging at anyone that approached him. He sliced one man right across the stomach before impaling another through the chest. He had to parry a well timed blow but then used his strength to shove his sword up, causing the other man to stumble backwards. He was about to strike the final blow when he saw him get trampled by a horse. He looked up to see Tormund swinging his axe wildly at the Northern men whilst he rode. He cackled and laughed as he did so like a bloodthirsty madman. Jon reached a wall that provided him a brief respite from the fighting, looking around at the anarchy that was ensuing. The Bolton army had been caught off guard but they still held the higher number of soldiers and Stannis’s men, along with the wildlings, were being slaughtered. Heavy tolls on both sides could be seen, the cramped space they fought in providing a setting for the bloodbath. More soldiers kept flowing in though for both sides, and the Bolton men were beginning to be pushed back. Jon saw Stannis stab his sword through the head of an onrusher before moving onto his next victim. He had a mad glint in his eyes as he moved, empowered by the sweet taste of battle. He was searching the courtyard for any sign of the leaders but they were yet to show themselves. They let their men do the fighting for them, proving their cowardice. Jon knew this castle and knew where they likely would be. He beckoned for a group of soldiers to follow him through a wooden door as they entered further into its depths.

                                                                                                     **********

  Sansa had heard the commotion from her room, sitting upright from her position on the bed. Startled, she paced around her room, wondering what she should do. She was panicking, which wouldn’t help her in this current predicament. She looked outside her window and saw men fall all over the place, the cries of the dying filling the air. She could not go out there, otherwise she would be quickly killed. It would be safer to barricade herself in the room and wait out the battle. She ran over to the desk that was in her room and began to push it closer to her door. She whimpered slightly, realising that it was heavier than it looked. It hardly moved as she put her weight onto it. She was about to give up when her door swung open heavily. She moved herself behind the desk to put something between her and the person entering. Yet she recognised the person. He slammed the door shut behind him as he ran over to her, panting.

  “We...we need to get out of here now,” Theon said to her, his stuttering still present even in this situation. “You need to follow me. You...need to trust me.” Sansa was lost for words. He hardly paid her any notice whilst she had lived here under Bolton rule and now he asked for her trust. Her mind was racing as she searched for the proper answer. He grew impatient with her silence. “San...Sansa. This is the only chance we’ll get. We can sneak through the...the corridors. Find a way out.” She nodded but then stopped in fear as she realised their mistake. In the commotion, they hadn’t heard the door open again or seen the man stood blocking their way. He wore a malicious grin on his face as he observed the two of them. He wanted to feel disappointment in their actions but he had expected it. Their disloyalty. After all he had done for them. It would make their pain much more enjoyable.

  “Tut tut tut,” he slowly said, his grin widening with each word. “I expected so much more from you. You’ve failed me, haven’t you? Reek.”

                                                                                                       **********

  Davos was not used to this level of carnage. Around him, bodies fell constantly, men screaming in agony and pain. Somehow he was still going. He had left his horse outside the castle, not wanting to risk its life for their cause. It would be little to no use anyway in this small area they were fighting in. The battle had spread throughout the grounds of Winterfell and was beginning to leak out onto the open fields surrounding it. Yet Stannis had still not sounded for the waiting soldiers in the forest. Davos knew that, although they were losing a lot of men, the Boltons were losing a lot more but they still had to stay vigilant. He knew how a battle could turn quickly in someone else’s favour. He swung his sword as a man staggered towards him, cutting him across the back before shoving him down the stone steps he was making his way up on. He watched as the body tumbled before it was consumed by soldiers. He winced slightly before carrying on up the steps. It was quieter up here, giving him precious time to breath. He spotted Stannis watching over the wall on the south face of the castle. Numerous corpses lay at his feet but he didn't seem to care. He was fixated on something in the distance. Davos was confused - they had purposefully not sent any men south as it would be a redundant tactic. He sidled up next to him, following his line of sight before his breath got caught in his throat. Stannis had a scowl on his face as he observed this new development.

  “What does this mean for us?” Davos urgently asked. 

  “Who knows. It doesn’t change anything for us. We continue fighting until we win this battle.” With that, he walked away, looking for someone else to fight. Davos looked back at the approaching target before doing the same.

                                                                                                           **********

  Roose hadn’t got involved in the fight just yet. After hearing about the army bearing down on Winterfell, he had thought it best to prepare himself properly first. They had caught him unawares, which greatly angered him. He was walking through a corridor, wearing armour that he had just put on. He still didn't intend to fight. He knew a losing position when he was in one. His men had done admirably to last this long, their dominance in numbers being their saving grace. What had to be done now was him making a decision. He could continue this fight and hope that they somehow made it through this, which would greatly increase his prestige and standing within Westeros, as well as improving his place with the Lannisters on the throne. Another option would be to flee - he would lose Winterfell as a result but he would continue surviving, which was his main goal. Power was only ever trumped by life at times like these. His final course of action would be to surrender but he didn't know whether his honour would allow him to do such a thing, and he doubted whether he’d be given the chance to survive that decision. Unless he somehow proved himself to the Baratheon ruler, get into his good graces and then start this process over again.

  He was interrupted from his musings by a soldier running towards him. He relaxed when he realised that he was on his side but then grew wary at the ashen face the man had. He halted right in front of him, giving a polite nod of the head and a salute, before delivering the bad news.

  “You need to come with me, my Lord. There’s been a development and it doesn’t bode well.” Roose didn't normally like taking orders from people who were below him but the urgent tone in his voice made him quickly comply. They walked at a fast pace up the nearest set of stairs before merging on the south look out. Below, he could see men crashing into each other, covered in blood and mud. To him, it didn't seem like anything was out of the ordinary. But then the soldier who had beckoned him pointed his finger past the battle and dread fell over him. Another army was coming from the south, meaning that they were now penned in. He looked closer but could not see the emblem of a stag. It wasn’t a Baratheon army, that much he knew. As hope filled him, it was quickly dashed. He was right in that it wasn’t a stag. If it had been a stag, then they might have been able to cope. This was worse. He looked again to make sure but he knew what it was. The soldier beside must have known too, judging by the way his army was shaking. He didn't even notice when that soldier collapsed in a dead heap, an arrow protruding from his left eye. He was focused on one thing. The flags that were being waved carried a picture of a golden kraken. Drastic action now needed to be taken. The Greyjoys were here for battle.

                                                                                                                **********

  They all stood in silence, looking at the two young figures. Jaime was fixated on Bran, who was directing a piercing, but infuriatingly ambiguous, stare towards him. Bronn was looking between everyone, wondering why they had all come to a halt. Brienne was mainly looking at Jaime, curious as to what the cause was for his forlorn expression. The young girl stood up, holding out a small, shoddy dagger. It would serve them no purpose to appear unprotected, even if their only weapon was this meagre piece of metal. Her hand shook uncertainly but her eyes held a heady resolve. She would protect Bran with all her might. He was all that she had left now - they had lost her brother, the Raven and Hodor. She would not fail them and him if she had anything to do with it.

  “Who...who are you?” she whimpered. Jaime could tell that she was incredibly nervous. He presumed that they had been hiding in here for a while undetected. He wondered how long they had been there. The sound of fighting echoed above them, bringing the point home that they needed to resolve this situation quickly if they were to succeed in their plight. He held out his hands, palms facing the two of them, to show that he didn't mean them any harm.

  “I think your friend here knows who I am quite well.” The girl sent an accusatory glance at Bran, who’s remained locked in an impassive expression.

  “Meera, this is Jaime Lannister. We share a connected path that has brought us all here today, starting with a deceitful and self-preserving decision.” Jaime looked down at his comment, whereas the others remained just as confused as to what their history entailed. Sorrow filled the lion that was separated from his pack.

  “I truly regret my choice that day. If I had known properly who I was protecting, I would not have done it.” Bran looked at him curiously.

  “I don’t need your apologies. If you had not done what you did that day, I would not be what I am now. We should move on from that if we are to work together.” Jaime was surprised. He hadn’t expected at all to receive forgiveness so easily. He nodded his acceptance to the agreement, avoiding the curious looks of the other people in the room. Bronn stepped forward, running a hand through his hair in bemusement.

  “Well, now the pleasantries are all over, are you going to explain what the fuck is going on for us not currently in the loop?” Podrick had to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of their situation. The girl called Meera answered his blunt question.

  “I don’t know what you’re doing here but we came here for shelter. We were beyond the Wall when we were attacked. We managed to escape and made our way here, seeing as we thought this was Bran’s home. But, when we arrived, we discovered that it was overrun. Thankfully, Bran knew this place existed. He used to love exploring the castle grounds, he said.” She sent him a warm smile.

  “Is there anyway into the castle from here?” Brienne asked them both. “We’re fighting for the same side, it seems. We can help each other. Bran’s sister is in the castle right now, we need to get inside.”

  Bran was the one who answered. “No. There’s no way in. This place was here before Winterfell was built, designed to warm it from beneath. We should stay here. The battle is coming to an end.”

                                                                                                       **********

   Yara Greyjoy took glee out of slicing a man across the throat, feeling the warm spray of blood over her face. How that man would be sickened if he was still alive to find out he had been killed by a woman. She hadn’t expected to be in a battle of this large a scale. After Euron, her uncle, had taken the place of the leader of the Iron Islands, after he had killed her father, she had thought it best to flee with their best ships. Without a proper plan, she had come to the decision that she needed to save Theon. Her previous attempts to do so had failed miserably, mainly because of Theon’s stupid resistance. But family had to stay together, especially with Euron breathing down their necks now. She had rallied the support of her followers in this idea and had sailed to the nearest port on the coast of Westeros. She had left her small fleet of ships in the hands of her most capable captain and a small number of her men, and had then marched over to Winterfell. She realised that the kingdom was in disarray because their progress went smoothly, without any significant interruptions. It was a fractured place now, with people only looking out for their own needs. The common folk barely battered an eyelid as her army marched through the countryside. As they reached Winterfell, she had been alarmed to see smoke billowing from it, and then the war going on. She had ordered them to quicken their pace and they were now in this position. Fighting Bolton men, the people who had destroyed her brother, alongside sigils of a stag. She didn't care who her new allies were; if they kept battling with her, she wouldn’t kill any of them. She stabbed another man as she purposefully made her way deeper into the castle grounds. She knew one thing for certain though. Theon better fucking come with her this time.

                                                                                                          **********

  Ramsey paced around the room, his face still scarred by his menacing grin. He held out a dagger, pointing it at Sansa. He knew to aim for her - Reek would gladly protect her so would take the first hit, leaving her unguarded to his pleasures. They hadn’t spoken since he had walked into the room. They were so boring. Maybe they’d be more interesting when provoked. 

  “Are not happy about my being here? My love, Sansa, you wound me so deeply. I have always cared for you. Come to me. Don’t listen to this, I’d like to say man, but we all know that isn’t true.” No response from her still, just a cold stare. He sighed and rolled his eyes.  _ Give me something to play with,  _ he pleaded. “Reek. I trained you better than this. You’re loyal to me, not her. I thought I made that very clear. Maybe I should reiterate my point again. Get the message across.” No words. He banged his hands on the desk between them, causing Sansa to jump slightly, startled. His smile grew. “I didn't want to tell you this, dear. But seeing as you’re not wanting to partake in this conversation, I guess I’ll continue. Fill this dreary silence between us friends. Your young brother was captured by one of my men, along with a very feisty woman. He was so meagre and incredibly dull. But then he started screaming. They were both very good at that. He didn't last long, sadly. She put a stronger fight but they always give in eventually. I can’t seem to remember his name. Rickon, was it?” 

  Sansa’s grip on the desk tightened, her knuckles going white. Tears started to sting her eyes but she held them back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect he was having on her. Her face grew angry. “You’ll die for this, Ramsey,” she promised. He let loose a bark of laughter.

  “Oh, I always liked you for a reason. Beautiful with a bite. Perfect. But, look at the position you’re in. No one will know what happened here. You’ll just be the casualties of a needless battle. Such a shame.” He started walking closer but was interrupted by the door opening. He turned around to see his father stood in the doorway. 

  “What’s going on here?” he asked, an angry expression on his face.

  “I’m just saying goodbye to these two beloved people,” he replied innocently.

  “We don’t have time for this. We’re surrounded, and losing. We need to leave now, go back south and seek shelter with our allies. It is our only option.”

  “We will lose all our honour!” Ramsay shouted, disbelief oozing out at the words his father said.

  “This isn’t about honour, you fool. We have to survive, to preserve our lineage. That comes first, before anything. You need to learn that. Now, come over here. I know a passage out and have horses waiting for our arrival.” Ramsay gave one more look back at the other two people in the room, seeing their confused but hopeful expressions. He begrudgingly walked over to his father, shaking his head at the injustice of it all.

  “Our lineage will only be preserved if we keep our honour in tact.” Roose sighed at his son as he got closer.

  “I never expected you to understand. You were never a good nobleman. The intricacies of this world were lost on you. A shame.” Ramsay’s surprised expression at the callous words increased as he felt a dagger plunge into his chest.


	15. Journeys and Seizure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are reunions a plenty as Winterfell falls into new hands, whereas Daenerys finally makes her way to Westeros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there everyone!  
> This will be the last chapter for a while since I'm off to America on holiday on Thursday for two weeks. If I get the chance, I'll work on the story from my phone but it's likely nothing will be posted until after I'm back in England. So, to tide you over, here's the longest chapter we've had so far at over 6000 words. As ever, please comment, subscribe and hit the kudos button if you enjoy what you read.

They had left Braavos soon after Arya’s questioning. The Golden Company had been quick to promise their swords to Daenerys after they had witnessed the destruction she had caused to the Bank and when a suitable payment was agreed. Arya’s capture and subsequent release from her bindings had left the main vessel pressured with high tension. No one on board trusted her truly. She may have been a Stark once, but the girl that sat high in the ropes, watching the ocean as they sailed glimmer against the sun, was different to the innocent child that Ned Stark had raised. Whilst she sat there, she thought back on her time in Braavos and with the Faceless Men. She had learnt invaluable skills during her time there, and she was grateful for the lessons she had been taught, but she had been constantly filled with a sense of impatience. She had known that, whilst she trained, her enemies lived on, earning extra time to breath that they didn't deserve. That was the reason she had eventually left. Jaqen had been useful for sure but his incessant need to stand by the rules of his faith had infuriated her. She knew enough now to get by on her own, although she now found herself within a different sort of group. She had observed the people milling about on deck from her vantage point high in the sky. They were an eclectic mix of people that had no right to be working together and yet, they did seamlessly. She was amazed and perplexed with how they functioned but she guessed this is what the Targaryen girl stood for - bringing people together. It was a nice sentiment but she doubted whether the people of Westeros would be willing to accept such extensive integration of cultures. She didn't really care either way; Arya was not one for the game of politics. All she cared about was that Daenerys left the North alone if she got to the throne. That was another reason she had left the House of Black and White - she missed her home. She hadn’t been there for several years and thought it time that she returned to what remained of her family. They would also prove useful in helping her kill the people who had wronged them in the past.

   “I remember being a moody teenager.” She was startled by the unexpected voice and had to quickly hold onto the rope that was supporting her tightly. She looked over to who had snuck up on her so easily and was surprised to see it was an old man that she hadn’t been introduced to yet. She was amazed that he had managed to pull himself up here but, evidently, he had managed to do so with minimal noise. His wild beard and hair blew in the wind up here, making him look crazed. He seemed to be enjoying that fact.

   “I’m not being moody,” she replied, defensively. He chuckled.

   “That’s what they all say.” She scowled at him, which just made him want to continue. “You definitely appeared to be thinking about something intently up here.” It was a statement, not a question. How had he known? 

   “Maybe I was sat up here for a reason. Maybe I wanted some privacy. It’s the only place on this ship where that’s remotely possible.”

   “Oh, I gathered that. What were you thinking so hard about?" She wanted to look away from his piercing green eyes, that tempted her to answer his question. They gave off the impression that she could trust him.  _ What sort of magic is this? I don’t need to trust anyone but myself. _ She dragged her eyes away, her frown returning. She ignored the question.

   “Who are you?”

   “Bruda. The man who put you on this ship.” She tried not to show the surprise she felt. She had trained for months, bettered a number of assailants and enemies. Yet she had been beaten by an old man. That infuriatingly cocky smile on his face annoyed her further.

   “How did you get up here? Not to be rude or anything but a man of your age should barely be able to walk, let alone climb up to this height unassisted.”

   He looked around them, as if he was only now realising how high up they were. “Let’s just call it...magic.” He winked as he finished his sentence. Again, she felt like she wanted to believe him.  _ I can’t trust anyone. _

   “What are you doing up here then?”

   “It seems fairly obvious to me. I’m talking to you.” She rolled his eyes at his answer so he continued. “I thought I’d break the proverbial ice. Now I know that you weren’t wanting to kill Jorah Mormont, and I believe you when you say that, I thought it best that you were comfortable with us. I want you to like us, to trust us.” He looked at her more intently as he said that.  _ How? How is he doing this? _ “You should realise that your path is merging with ours. You’d be a fool not to seek our help. And we’ll need yours soon. We all head to Winterfell, for better or for worse. It’s going to be a long journey to get there. You’ll need friends to get you there.”

   “I’ve never needed any friends, thank you.” Her voice didn't hide the lie behind that unconvincing statement.”

   “I doubt that. And even if that is the case, what you have already faced in the past will pale in comparison to what lies ahead of you in the future.” She remained silent, thinking about his words. He gave her a moment, the only sound being the wind rustling the canvas sail behind them. “Now, seeing as I have answered plenty of your questions, what do you feel about answering mine?” Silence again until she closed her eyes and answered.

   “Home,” came the simple reply. He smiled at the breakthrough he had made. 

   “Ah,” he said, nodding. “Understandable. It’s something that everyone wants to go back to in the end. Home represents a more innocent, a simpler time in our lives that has to be cherished. It’s a worthy subject to think about.” A pause in the conversation fell between them, both of them using the opportunity to watch the dragons play in the sky.

   “Do...do you think about home?” He was mildly surprised with how soft her voice was. She was still a child after all.

   “All the time.” He wore a sad smile as he spoke. “But I can’t and won’t ever return home now. I’ve come to terms with that. And that’s sad, having to leave that part of you behind. It’s never easy. But you have to use its memory to spur you on. And then you’ll eventually create a new home, maybe in a completely different part of the world, and it will slowly begin to hold the same sort of emotional connection as your previous one. And that’s exciting.”

   “I haven’t been home since I left with my father to go south. The worst decision he ever made.” Her voice had traces of anger. She was also confused about why she was talking freely to him.

   “You know, I knew Edwyle Stark when I was much younger, who was your Great grandfather if I’m correct. One of the last times I was in Westeros, was also the first time I met your grandfather, Rickard Stark.” Arya’s face, this time, did show some surprise. “Proper Northerners, they were. I didn't get to spend a lot of time with them sadly. I was busy with my own life, whilst they had to rule the North. But I know that they would be proud of you, for wanting to come back home.” Arya had to blink back tears as he spoke. She nodded, unable to get proper words out. Bruda understood what she was going through. He stretched his arms and legs out with an audible groan. “I think that I’ve taken up far too much of your time. Just remember to come down after a while, it won’t do you any good to be alone forever.” Her eyes widened as a golden glow surrounded the rope he was holding, before he stepped off the plank of wood they were sat on, falling effortlessly down with little fuss before landing on his feet comfortably.  _ Magic.  _ His words came back to her and it now made sense why he had been able to beat her and sneak up on her. She sat back, thinking about their conversation, and, despite herself, she couldn’t help but think that she was growing to trust him.

**********

   The Bolton and other Northern soldiers had quickly waved the white flag when Roose Bolton had handed himself over to Stannis. The fighters had stood still in surprise and shock as they watched their leader give in to the enemy. They dropped their swords, one by one, before being rounded up by the remaining Baratheon men and wildlings. Winterfell was theirs. After the grueling battle, and roughly 500 deaths in total for both sides, Jon was back home. They had wasted no time in tearing down the Bolton sigil from the walls, replacing it with flags with the emblem of the Baratheon house. Jon had been pleasantly surprised, however, to see that Stannis had also ordered some Stark flags to be put up as well, in a show of solidarity with his new ally. With those flags adorning the walls, the castle was beginning to resemble what it had been before it was poisoned. Jon couldn’t help but smile a little as he looked around the courtyard but then soon put his emotions in check as he realised there was still someone that had to be dealt with.

   Stannis stood, his face and clothes covered in mud and blood, in the centre of the courtyard. He was backed by some of his men who had been lucky enough not to pick up too serious an injury. Plenty of men were being treated, accounting for the groans of pain that could be heard off in the distance. Jon was happy to see that Davos was stood by his side once again, looking in decent condition apart from a cut across his head. It didn't seem too serious as he gave Jon a nod of acknowledgement and a small grin as he walked up to them. He also spotted Tormund cleaning his axe, sat on a wooden crate in the corner. He had a manic smile on his face after the battle, wiping crimson blood off the metal. Now the fighting was over with, Jon could tell he was less than interested in what was about to happen. This line of thinking turned Jon’s attention to the man kneeling on the floor in front of Stannis. The Bolton patriarch had a dark expression as he glowered at the victor of the battle but he remained in position to allow Stannis his moment of gloating. He was also wary of the sword that he held by his side, blood of the men it had claimed still coating the blade. Stannis looked at him and then the crowd of people surrounding them.

   “We have Winterfell!” he shouted, the men around him roaring at his words, banging their weapons against their armour. “And now, before me, the man who dared take us on!” Jeers and shouts of abuse were shouted at Bolton. “Yet, he throws himself at my mercy. Because he knows I am the true ruler. What do you have to say, Bolton.”

   Roose bowed his head. “I seek your forgiveness. And I’m willing to offer my support to your claim to the Iron Throne. You need as many allies as you can get if you are to take on the Lannisters.” Despite the situation, his voice remained strong and defiant, not wavering in the face of defeat and failure.

   “The Lannisters are weak. I have shown here that I have the strength and power to stand against them. And I have more allies than you would first expect.” He sent a sneer at Roose. “Why should I even consider you as an ally? You throw yourself at my feet because I defeated you. You don’t willingly support me. You have no way of proving your loyalty to me?”

   “I killed my son!” Roose interrupted him. Stannis looked confused as to what the outburst had to do with him. Roose could sense his bemusement so continued explaining his actions. “I did that to show you I am on your side.”

   “Betraying your own blood shows your loyalty?” Stannis asked, unconvinced at his words. 

   “I stopped him from killing Sansa Stark.” He looked at Jon, as did Stannis. He had gone rigid at the admission. He had forgotten in the heat of the battle that Sansa was here in Winterfell. She was yet to emerge from within the castle. “And also Theon Greyjoy.” They all turned to the Greyjoy group, which was headed by Yara. She gave him a cool stare. She wouldn’t believe him until she saw her brother alive. 

   “If that is the case, I am grateful for your intervention. My allies, some that I was unaware of before the battle-” Yara didn't change her expression. “-will be happy that you did so.” Roose seemed to sit up straighter at that, hopeful that his actions had benefited him. “Yet all I see is a man who killed his own son to better his chances of surviving. If that’s the case, surely I should remove you. Stand.” Roose hesitantly did so. “Against my better judgement, I have to give into my merciful side.” It happened quickly. Jon could hardly see the sword being swung in the air or it connecting with Roose’s chest. What he did see was Roose slumping to the floor, surprise in his eyes. He fell to his knees, clutching at the sword sticking out of him before he fell face first into the mud after the sword was removed. Everyone stood in shock, looking at the body. “It is a mercy that I gave you a quick and painless death.” He turned to the former Bolton men. “Look at your fallen leader! Look at what happens when people go against me and try to better their standing in society by betraying what they stand for. Do any of you still want to stand by this dead man or will you pledge your swords to me?” They murmured an agreement to the latter option and he nodded his head in satisfaction. “Someone remove him from my sight.”

   “Jon?” He heard the quiet voice across the yard. He turned towards one of the doorways and locked eyes with Sansa. He had never been very close to his oldest sister during their time growing up in Winterfell. He had always leaned closer to Arya, who was more of a kindred spirit like him, whereas Sansa had been raised with the hope of simply fulfilling her given role in society. Yet, when he looked at her, he could tell that that girl was now gone. She looked different, aged by her experiences. She ran towards him, ecstatic to see a part of her family again finally. He closed the distance between her and, as she wrapped her arms around him, he lifted her off the ground and spun her around. The soldiers didn't know what to do watching this scene and began to disperse. Davos smiled at the interaction, moving over near to where Tormund was. Sansa had tears in her eyes as she looked at him.

   “You don’t know how good it is to see you,” he whispered to her. She just snuggled her face further into his shoulder. He looked past her and his good mood evaporated. Theon was waiting in the doorway, watching the reunion with unease. Jon gently dropped Sansa to her feet and walked over to the Greyjoy man. Theon hesitantly approached.

   “Jon. I didn't think I’d get to see you again. I’m glad I do.” Jon looked at him angrily, inches from him. He didn't respond, instead punching Theon right in the face, sending him to the floor. Theon felt hot blood on his face as he looked up at the man towering above him.

   “I’m presuming that, in some way, you have protected Sansa here or have attempted to do so. That is the only reason I am not killing you right now. You should understand that quickly,” he angrily spat out. Theon nodded straight away fervently. “You betrayed your own family. The family that gave you a home and watched as you grew up. And this was how you repay us? I don’t think I will ever forgive you for what you did. The deaths you caused, on purpose or indirectly.” Jon was seething.

   “Come, brother,” Yara said as she approached them. “You should be thankful of his mercy towards you. Leave now before he changes his mind. We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” Her surprisingly sweet tone scared him even more but he allowed her to drag him up from the floor. Jon looked at them as they walked away. New problems were arising even after the battle had been won. 

**********

   Daenerys had seen and watched Bruda talking to the young Stark girl. She hadn’t even given thought to how he had managed to get up there, his capabilities amazing her more and more on a daily basis. Although she had not been able to hear what they were saying, since they were so high up, she had been able to tell that it was a heartfelt conversation. She was curious as to what the topic of conversation had been. She watched him as he gracefully landed on the ship deck, hiding a smile as he casually glanced around.  _ He likes to show off but in a way that doesn’t look like he’s doing so. _ As he looked around the boat, his eyes fell on her. Bruda could tell that she wanted to talk. There was only one reason she’d be observing him so carefully. He walked over to her, lacking his usual support of his staff. When he had seen where Arya was hiding, he had opted to leave it back in his room. It would have just got in the way. 

   “Thank you,” she said sincerely. She wanted to savour his reaction - he was perplexed as to what she was grateful for. He had been expecting a tongue lashing for conspiring with someone who had been seen as an enemy mere moments before. He had not thought that he would be greeted with a warm smile. She enjoyed the moment of confusion on his part - it seemed to rarely happen.

   “You’re...welcome?” He said it like a question, prompting her to answer his unspoken queries.

   “It looked like you were helping her become more comfortable with us. I’m afraid I didn't handle the situation like a proper queen should.” She appeared bashful almost, ashamed that her anger had gotten the better of her in the heat of the moment.

   “A proper queen is dull. What makes you special is that you are driven by your emotions, not a pointless and unwavering commitment to political niceties. You’ll definitely make mistakes in this way of ruling but it should serve you well overall.” The tension in her body dissipated at his reassurances, making him want to take advantage of this brief opportunity. “And it’s entirely understandable that you’d be so angry with her when she threatened the life of your dear old bear.” She eyed him dangerously for a moment before her expression softened again.

   “It is true. There was a fire rising inside of me when I heard what had happened. If she had killed him…” She trailed off at the end of her sentence but the meaning of what she wanted to say hung heavy between them. He nodded, already expecting such a reaction.

   “You would have been within your rights. I can see how deeply you care for him.”

   “I don’t exactly want to hide it.” She looked shocked at herself for finally accepting that fact. 

   “And you shouldn’t have to. Just keep all amorous activity away from open spaces. Such as the deck of this ship, for example. I’m sure all the men would be delighted to see you in a state of undress but to see Mormont...it doesn’t bear thinking about.” She swatted at his arm to stop his teasing. He decided to keep his mouth closed, not wanting to push his luck too far. She grew serious as she thought of her next words.

   “You saved him again.”

   “That I did. It’s what I’m here for.”

   “Is that why you’re here? To make sure he survives? You never really told me why you searched for me. Do you know something that’s going to happen?” He knew that she wasn’t accusing him of anything - she was just curious as to what his true intentions were. 

   “Why don’t we sit down over here.” He led her over to two wooden barrels, giving her a polite hand to help her sit on top of one, before he placed himself on the other with a grunt. “I can’t know for sure what the future holds. That’s not what my powers permit me. I can’t look into a fire and see things happening that haven’t yet happened. What I do know is that, if you are to succeed in your endeavour, then you need him by your side.”

   “And you want me to succeed?”

   “That’s why I’m here. I told you, I just heard a small voice in my head suggesting I come to you. I heard stories of your successes and knew that I could help you. So I journeyed across Essos before I accidentally came across the fight in Meereen, which put me before your presence. Pure luck. Like something has been driving us together. And I don’t know what.” He seemed to hesitate as he considered his next words. “And then I met you. And I knew I couldn’t leave you.”

   She leaned forward slightly, searching his eyes. He looked down, avoiding her searching gaze. “Why?”

   “I saw you. And you reminded me so much of my Isabella.” 

   “Jorah mentioned something about a story you told him about a love you had. Was that her?”

   “Yes. Oh, you would have got on splendidly. Both fiery women, striving for what you want. Not backing down when it gets tough. And you have that same sparkle in your eyes, like you’re still amazed with each passing day about what the world can offer you. Wonder is a rare commodity, which is why only a few stories are forever remembered. I never thought I would find someone just like her but, if she were still alive this day, she would encourage me to stand by your side. That’s why I’m here. To serve her memory in the only way I can. To live.” Daenerys could make out that tears were brimming in his eyes. She hadn’t expected such a heartfelt response and it warmed her heart to see him confide in her. She stood up from the barrel, standing straight in front of him. He looked up only to see her bend down to give him a long, tender hug, along with a kiss on his cheek.

   “Am I interrupting something?” Jorah asked them as he approached. They broke apart slowly at the sound of his voice, meeting his inquisitive gaze. Bruda smiled at Daenerys one last time before standing up.

   “I should...go...tend to...things,” he lamely excused. Daenerys understood what he would be feeling right now and so nodded her head to let him leave. As he walked past Jorah, he perked up slightly. “I left the seat warm for you,” he whispered in his ear, before patting him on the shoulder and walking off. Jorah looked at Daenerys cautiously.

   “What was all that about?” he asked her, although he didn't want to pry too much.

   “Just Bruda working his magic as always. He was telling me why he’s with us. And why he’s protected you so often.” She glared at him as she finished the sentence, making him look sheepish.

   “Yes...well...I’m still sorry about that. I should have thought more about the dangers Braavos can hold. I let you down.”

   “You did no such thing, Jorah. I’ve already had to shout at you for your own foolishness, I’m not going to do it again.” She thought back to Bruda’s words. “I care deeply about you. I can’t have anything happen to you, which is why I’m so thankful that man is with us right now.”

   “I understand. The feeling is strongly reciprocated.”

   “I’m glad,” she said as she stood up and pecked him on the lips. He still wasn’t used to that. She thought back to something else Bruda had said to her. “Oh, he also told me to leave all amorous activity with you for when we have some privacy.” She enjoyed how his cheeks reddened at her teasing.

   “I really do hate that man sometimes. If only he could keep his mouth shut. I’m under the impression that his sole purpose is to embarrass me.” She laughed at his comment and then smiled as Barristan walked up to them.

   “Yes, Ser Selmy?”

   “Hello, my Queen. I think you should look at what we are heading for.” She did as he said and saw the imposing castle on the rocks ahead of them. This next step on the path to the Throne. Dragonstone.

**********

   Jon and Sansa had spent some time catching up and reminiscing about the lives they had left far behind. It was nice and soothing for the both of them to be able to talk freely; the men at the Wall were not ones for emotional conversations for sure, especially after Sam had left for the Citadel, and Sansa had been without anyone to confide in since her move down south. Talking with each other was the first step in soothing their tired souls but it would be a long time before they got through their personal and united hardships. Jon still had the thought of the next wars to come weighing heavily down upon him. Sansa still didn't truly believe that Ramsey was gone, even though she had seen his lifeless body hit the floor with a small thud. A part of her felt sad that it had happened but only because she hadn’t been the one to strike the final blow. She had broken the news to Jon about Rickon’s fate after a while, the two of them crying together quietly. It had brought their situation right back to reality.

   After over an hour of talking about more pleasant and random topics, getting reacquainted with each other once again, they chose to take a short walk around the Winterfell grounds, letting the icy cold wind bite at them through their woolen cloaks. Sansa hadn’t been able to appreciate the castle and the surrounding lands in their natural beauty during her time under Bolton control - it now felt more like the home she had been used to. Jon fancied strolling over to the Godswood, seeing as he had once enjoyed thinking through his thoughts under the shade of the weirwood tree when he was younger. As they were walking over to the forested area, they came across a group of people that neither of them had seen during or after the battle. Their line of sight was immediately directed to the young boy sat in a cart in the middle of the group, who was being guarded by a girl a few years older than him. Sansa could tell that she was crying as soon as she saw him. 

   “Bran,” she whispered, running over to him, Jon not too far behind. They ignored the others as they embraced him, with Jon giving him a kiss on his forehead. They were both relieved to see him alive. They hadn’t heard from him since Theon had taken over the castle so they had presumed him to be dead. They had to think like that in this dreadful and merciless world. Sansa had not expected to see any of her brothers again; to be reunited with two on the same day was almost overwhelming.

   “Look at you,” Jon said, a smile filling his face. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. Practically a man now.”

   “Almost.” They were both surprised to hear such little emotion in his voice. Just like the two of them, Bran had been changed in his years away from his home. They would have to get used to what he had become. Feeling that the conversation had abruptly ended, Jon turned to the girl by Bran’s side. He held out his hand in greeting, which she took hesitantly.

   “And who might you be?” he asked her gently, noticing her slight discomfort.

   “Me...Meera.”

   “How do you know my brother?” It was Sansa who spoke this time. Meera looked at Bran as if to seek permission to talk about what they had been through together.

   “I helped Bran go North of the Wall. Me and...my brother. He knew that Bran was special. We took him to see the Three Eyed Raven.” Jon looked at Sansa confused, not knowing what this creature was. “He helped train Bran for a while before we were...attacked.” She wore a haunted look as she thought back to that time. “The Night King…” Jon bristled at the name, sadly knowing what that creature was. He nodded in understanding, telling her that she didn't need to talk about that. He knew it must have been harrowing for them. As she came to a stop, Sansa looked at the others standing around them. She spotted Brienne and her eyes went wide.

   “You! I’ve met you before.” Brienne nodded, forcing a smile on her face.

   “I tried to take you from Lord Baelish. You argued against my intentions, even though I was working on your mother’s orders.” Sansa scowled at the mention of her deceased parent.

   “So why are you here now? I thought I made it perfectly clear about my thoughts towards you and your intentions.”

   “My job wasn’t done until I knew you were safe. I came here to rescue you from the Boltons, with the help of Podrick here. It was due to chance that we met Jaime and Bronn on the way.” Their attention became focused on the previously quiet two men. Bron tried giving his usual winning smile, although it seemed to fail in earning their acceptance. Jaime shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot under their gaze. He was in the middle of the wolf pack now and was beginning to wish he had travelled east, and not north. He had been pleasantly surprised to earn the undeserved acceptance of one Stark - he doubted that the others would be so forgiving of his past. Jon scrutinised them both, recognition flaring as anger rose within him. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

   “You’re Jaime Lannister. What are you doing here exactly? Looking to sabotage us from within?”

   “Jon.” It was Bran who answered. “Jaime is fully repentant of his previous actions, going as far as to leave his family behind him. He is lost, like so many in this world, searching for purpose. We can give him a purpose. You and I know that Winter is coming. The Night King grows stronger with each passing day, and soon the Wall will crumble at his feet. Our only chance in defeating him is if we gain as many men as possible to our cause. That process is already beginning, here in Winterfell and in further lands. Cogs in the wheel are turning, Jon. We grow strong too.

**********

   Daenerys had relished walking up the long set of stairs that led up to the castle, the cool sea breeze causing her hair to flow wildly in different directions. Her fleet surrounded the island, after having been welcomed by the few Baratheon men that remained at Dragonstone. Daario had joined them from the ship he had been managing. It was good to see him again, although she realised that she had forgotten about him during their time apart. She felt saddened by the thought but not wholly surprised. There were so many people by her side now, giving her support. It was a magnificent piece of architecture to her and she could tell that her family had lived here decades ago. It was a deep black in colour, as if it had been charred itself by a dragon. The jagged rocks that surrounded it made it look like an even more foreboding place. She placed her hands on the large doors, feeling the coolness of them under her palm, before letting a few of her soldiers push them open. The large doors swung open, revealing a dark interior, lit by several torches along the wall. They all stepped inside, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls. The guards who had already been waiting inside directed them to the main chamber. They entered the substantial room, admiring its size. Light poured in from the windows that adorned the walls, seemingly focused on the strange throne at the head of the room. Daenerys slowly approached it. The throne, just like the castle itself, seemed to have been formed in fire. It sat on a raised stage, with jagged stone behind it making it stand out. She sat herself upon it, looking out across the people who had followed her in. It took Jorah’s breath away - she had never seemed so much like a Queen as in this moment. 

   “It suits you marvellously, your Grace,” Bruda said, bowing at her. “You look like a splendid Queen, if you permit me to say so.”

   She nodded her head in acceptance. “It is...satisfactory. Though I don’t plan to stay here long. This is a temporary throne for me. I only deserve the true seat of power that was wrongly taken from me.”

   “Yes, yes. I understand that. But you still look nice.” She couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips at his stubbornness. She surveyed the room coolly. To think that her family, long gone, had once thrived in this place. That’s why she didn't want to stay long - she wanted to move away from their past to make her own future. This was just a convenience for her.

   Tyrion stepped forward. “I know we just arrived here, your Grace, but I was wondering what you think your next steps should be.”

   “I thank you for always thinking like my advisor Tyrion. It is much needed at times. I think the first thing to do is send a raven to Stannis Baratheon to thank him for allowing me to stay. It would do me well to strengthen our burgeoning alliance, to make sure he does not forget that I exist.”

   “I’ll write it myself, my Queen. To Stannis Baratheon...cheers for the castle” Tyrion bowed before leaving them.

   “It is a good job that he is good at what he does, otherwise I may have had him killed a long time ago for his cheek.”

   “If that were the case, Daenerys, I’d be merely a head on a stick right now,” Bruda quipped, causing her to smile further.

   “And you’d be well served to remember my graciousness in not doing that to you. Yet.” He was impressed that she was beginning to be able to take him on at this game of words they often played. It made for much more interesting conversations. “Ser Barristan.” The old guard stood forward upon hearing his name. “I’d like you to gather the Baratheon soldiers here. Let them explain how Dragonstone is run and where my men can stay. Some of them can stay on ships if that is necessary. Even though I may not want to, I believe we will be here for a while so we should know how to use this castle to its maximum capability.” He gave her a quick nod before leaving. As the door was opened by the waiting guards, Varys walked briskly in. He seemed troubled by something, making Daenerys sit straighter in her new throne.

   “Lord Varys. What has you in such a concerned expression?

   “Some of the guards came up to me just a moment ago, with some unusual news. It appears that, prior to our arrival, they were met with some unexpected guests. They don’t know who they are.”

   “And why should this concern me? Surely they should have dealt with them before I arrived here.”

   “Well, your Grace, they thought that you would want to see them. It appears that they have a dragon themselves.”


	16. Captive and Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei's situation worsens whilst the prospect of a strong alliance increases

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> I'm back! Here's a new chapter for you. It was quite difficult to get back into the writing mode after my break but I battled through to give you a fairly long chapter, about 5000 words. Things are coming together. Enjoy

Cersei Lannister had lost count of the number of days she had been held in this hell of a prison. Every day was the same. In the morning, she’d be rudely and violently woken up by a mountain of a woman. The only blessing that gave was the light that surged into the dirty and stink-filled room when the door was opened. At least she was able to make out what the walls looked like, rough grey stone that provided little comfort, as well as the large wooden door. Because, once the door was shut, all she knew was darkness and would try to imagine what the cell looked like but would slowly feel the image slip away from her memory. Darkness. Imprisoned in this cesspit, she had two options to pass her time, neither of them pleasant for her. She could stay awake, staring into the empty darkness that surrounded her. If that didn't mess with her mind enough, that option left her solely with her thoughts, which were turning darker with each passing day. Her other choice was to attempt sleep but she frequently found that restless; her dreams would be filled of Tommen befalling tragedy on the throne, her reaching out to help and guide him but he was always so tantalisingly close yet far away from her arms. She would see Myrcella’s lifeless body on the sands of Dorne, blood turning the sand a murky red. That’s when she would wake up, sweat drenching her face as she gasped for air. It was a torturous place and she knew that this was what it was designed to do, just like the awful cells in the Red Keep or the sky cells of the towers in the Eyrie, testing the person trapped inside, messing with their mind. Forcing them to slowly lose any will to live and then you would die or confess. The people who held her wanted a confession of sin, that’s the only thing they rattled on about when she was blessed with their presence. She hadn’t lost all of her will though, despite her growing weakness. Darkness.

   Her thoughts, when she gave into them, often drifted to what the situation was in the Red Keep without her presence there. She wondered whether she was actually being missed by anyone there. In truth, she had no one. Jaime was gone, abandoning her to save himself, the unloyal coward that he was. Her father was dead, at the hands of her own brother who had vanished in the night afterwards. Her children had, in one way or another, been taken from her, the only people she truly cared for now. She wondered what lies and plans Tommen was being fed whilst he was away from her clutches. That was the only explanation for his actions towards her. She had only ever treated him with love and care. The boy who had spoken to her was not the son she had known. His eyes were darker, his words now scathing and cutting. She needed to see him, to show him how wrong he was. She would be sympathetic though of course, otherwise he would not consider crawling back to her. She would tell him how it wasn’t his fault, how he had been manipulated by people who only put their needs first but she was willing to help him get rid of them. And he would be so grateful and he would weep in her arms, being so apologetic to her, and he would vow to take her from this prison, from the darkness, and give her a seat next to him by the throne. She knew that was the only outcome that would happen.

   He hadn’t been to see her at all so far. That hurt the most. He didn't care. He actually wanted her to be here, getting her out of the way. All she had done for him and he repaid her by throwing her in this pig sty. At first, she hadn’t believed that to be true. Her own blood wouldn’t do that to her. But the darkness had messed with her thoughts over time until the uncomfortable truth had settled upon her. She was no longer needed, her power was gone and she was likely to befall the same fate as her father. Unless she could speak with him, convince him of her honest agenda. Hope burns eternal but it was beginning to singe her hands.

   This morning she was awake early. She was glad that she would not give the woman the satisfaction of being abruptly woken this time. The door swung open after a brief sound of jingling metal keys. Of course she didn't see the door open, just the painful flash of light. A large shadow was cast in the middle of the doorway, the large woman standing there once again. Cersei couldn’t see her expression but hoped it was one of disgust and annoyance. Her only joy now was getting one over the beast. Septa Unella  wordlessly crossed the room, holding, as she always did, a clay jug of water and a ladle. Cersei, although not wanting to appear weak or needy, scrambled to sit up in the hopes that she would get a drink. Unella towered over Cersei, amplifying the idea of the power and control she had over her prisoner. She brought the ladle right to Cersei’s mouth; the wounded lion desperately reached her arms out to grasp it but it was quickly taken away from her.

   “Confess.” Always the same instruction. Every morning she was told to do so and every morning she had met the order with silence or a scathing the remark. The latter always resulted in a new bruise forming somewhere on her face but she had lost the motivation to care about the pain that was caused.

   “You say the same thing every time we meet and get the same response. How stupid are you, thinking I will give in if you beat me enough? You are nothing compared to me and you would be served well to remember that.” Unella chucked the contents of the ladle into Cersei’s face, making her cuts and bruises painfully sting. Then came the expected slap, not lacking in any of its usual strength.  _ I pity any man who lays with her.  _

   “Confess.” This time the instruction was said with slightly more anger, having to be bitten out between clenched teeth. Cersei stopped herself from rolling her eyes at her persistence. Unella stood there a few moments, waiting for a response, not caring whether it was positive or negative. When one didn't come, she smirked and poured the water out of the jug onto the stone floor. Cersei watched it happen sadly. It always ended this way. The Septa walked out of the cell and Cersei looked at where the water was pooling on the ground. She hated doing this but she had to in order to survive. She crawled to where the liquid was and begin to take up as much as she can, not caring about the dirt that tainted it. Tears filled her eyes as she thought about this humiliating husk of a person she had been rendered to. She had been a Lannister once. She didn't know what she was anymore.

**********

   They were led into the main throne room by three stern-looking guards equipped with frighteningly long and sharp spears. Sam eyed them wearily, a light sheen of sweat apparent on his forehead as they were made to walk forwards. Marwyn didn't appear to be feeling much better about the situation but that might just have been the result of staying in a cell for a number of days. They had been treated fairly well and Sam understood why they had been locked away; a precaution, especially because of the creature that travelled with them. After the egg had hatched in the Hightower, a small lizard-like animal had emerged. It had clambered tentatively towards them, seeking out the first people it saw for comfort. They had both been amazed at its behaviour - it was as if the dragon hatchling knew that Marwyn had been the one to cause it to be born. Similar to the egg that it had come from, the little dragon was mainly a burnt orange in colour, resembling the flames it would likely breathe, although it had a row of scales along its sides in the middle and on the tip of its snout that were a deep black. It made Sam think of the destruction it would possibly cause one day, transforming land to ash in an instance. He had fretted that they had made a mistake, unleashing another monster into the world when it was already becoming overrun by the undead. But then it had crawled up Marwyn’s arm, perching on his shoulder, looked at Sam and then blown warm smoke into his face. He had laughed at that. Dragons weren’t monsters; they were simply animals that had grown to a mythical status. Marwyn had given it the name of Hidebyo; he explained that in some ancient language that he had studied as a young maester, the word meant ‘by day’. He had thought it apt since it had been born during the light of the sun.

   They had quickly left the Hightower and had searched the docks for a small ship to hire or to board. Once one was found, Sam had sent off a note to Gilly, telling her to stay in Old Town with Little Sam for their own safety. It had been a difficult letter to write but he had known it was the right thing to do. It was likely that he would not survive the approaching war; he would not let that fate befall them too if he had anything to do with it. Marwyn had provided the captain of the ship good coin for their passage to Dragonstone, so much in fact that the captain had not even bothered to ask why they wanted to go there or what was making the noises emanating from a large wooden crate they were carrying. 

   Their arrival at the Baratheon stronghold had been less smooth. The few guards that had been there had met with them understandable caution. They had asked them who they wanted to see and they hadn’t been able to give a proper answer since they didn't know who was currently ruling there. It was common knowledge that Stannis Baratheon was off fighting in the North - they had hoped some of his advisors would have remained to help them in their task. Things had been made worse when, after being forced to open the crate, Hidebyo had nipped at a guards hand. He had grown rather quickly during their journey, surprising both of them, so his teeth were especially dangerous. They heard that he had lost a finger on his left hand.

   This had led to them to this point. They had heard a large party arrive at Dragonstone from their underground cell but didn't yet know who that had involved. Sam looked at the person sitting on the throne and was slightly surprised to see a young woman there. This was an unexpected development. They stood at a respectful distance, gently lowering the crate to the ground. He watched as another young woman, with darker skin and curly brown hair, took a step forward.

   “ You are in the presence of  Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons and the future ruler of Westeros.” Sam’s eyes widened. Him and Marwyn had spoken of a woman in the East who had supposedly raised a group of dragons. They had considered travelling to her, to seek help with their own new addition. But a strange twist of fate had brought them together by accident. She didn't look too happy about it.

   Daenerys eyed the two men suspiciously. They didn't look at all dangerous; one fat, one old. Her eyes turned to the wooden crate, the object peaking her interest. She knew what was inside, she could tell. Feel its warmth even across the distance they were separated by. “Open the crate.” Her voice was stern, not brokering any ideas of defying the order, although Marwyn did hesitate for a moment. The metal clasps were undone, with the sound reverberating around the large room. As soon as he lifted the lid, Hidebyo poked his head out of the box, curious eyes surveying the new environment. Daenerys’s expression softened at the sight as she was reminded of when her own dragons were that small. She tore her eyes from the magnificent beast to look at them again. “How did you come across him? I thought mine were the last of their kind.” She was more curious than accusatory, her voice quiet and soft now.

   It was Marwyn who responded. “I had the egg for a number of years. A friend of mine sent it to me, thinking my work as an archmaester in the citadel would equip me well to study it. He was called Illyrio but, to be truthful, I haven’t heard anything from him for a few years. We weren’t very close so I was surprised when it arrived in my office.” Daenerys gave Jorah a look at the mention of Illyrio’s name. He had gifted her three eggs as well as a present when she was married off to Khal Drogo.  _ What had he been planning? Had they just been innocent gifts? _

   “He’s beautiful.” Bruda stepped away from his place in front of the throne and walked towards them. When he got to them, he looked Sam hard in the eye before clicking his fingers. The chains that bound their legs unlocked and fell to the ground with a metal bang. They looked at him with surprise in their eyes but he just winked in response.

   “There’s no chance she’ll want you locked up now. Although we’re all wondering why you’re here,” he said.

   “Bruda is right, although I wish he would start to ask me before he takes matters into his own hands.” Despite her words, her tone was still playful. Sam plucked up the courage to speak.

   “Your Grace...we arrived here wanting to speak with Stannis Baratheon or one of his advisors because we were under the impression that he rules this keep.”

   “Stannis Baratheon handed me back my family’s old home as a sign of good will when we began an alliance together. Why did you wish to meet with him?”

   “The archmaester here told me that Dragonstone holds an incredibly large amount of a rare material that we need for the future.”

   “Wait a minute...Dragonglass!” It was Bruda who exclaimed the answer. “Why didn't I think of it? That’s brilliant, by the way. Made from dragon fire so of course the house of Targaryen would sit on top of a great ruddy pile of it! That might just work.”

   “Can you explain to me what’s happening?” It wasn’t unusual for her to be perplexed by Bruda’s actions and words but Daenerys was annoyed that she didn't know what they were talking about. Tyrion answered her.

   “There are tales from the people of the North that you hear whispers of across Westeros. During my time at the Wall, they often spoke of creatures of the night that killed men with ease. Men would go missing without a trace. They bring a dreadful cold with them.”

   “They’re just tales made up to scare children,” Jorah responded with barely hidden skepticism.

   “But what if they’re not,” Bruda spoke loudly, trying to emphasise his point by directing a finger at the knight. “Why would two grown men come here looking for help? It would either be a rather complicated and stupid trick or...they’re scared…” He ended on a whisper, directing his gaze now on Sam, who wilted under the intensity.

   “I’ve laid eyes on them myself. They’re real. Ask anyone of the Night’s Watch, they’ll tell you. They’re coming back, I swear.”

   “Daenerys, you need to listen to me. I spoke to you about another, greater war that you will be involved in. If this man speaks the truth, then we currently sit on the only chance we have of saving people and arming them properly. It’s all making sense. You formed an alliance with Stannis, who has just taken Winterfell. Winterfell is where it will happen. That same fate bringing us together, bringing this news to us. Always driving us to Winterfell”

   “You never told me who we would be fighting against in this great war. You look so pale just talking about it. What are these creatures?”

  Bruda didn't hesitate in answering. He’d accepted his fate a long time ago and knew what would face them. “The dead.”

**********

   Jon was enjoying the relative peace that had settled over the Northern castle. The Bolton men that had survived the battle hadn’t been stupid enough to challenge Stannis and so had gladly, although forced to, joined his ranks. It had left Winterfell full with people, with many of them having to move out towards the nearby areas where the Winter markets were held. For once though, he was slightly confident about their plight and knew that they had to build upon this if they were to have any chance of gaining victory. What had also bolstered his confidence was receiving a letter from Sam, who had detailed his next steps in figuring out a way of killing a white walker or wight. He would make sure to inform Stannis in their next meeting, which he was currently on his way to. The message had seemed urgent so he had wasted no time in getting ready. He had also been told that Mance, along with the strange Red Priestess and Stannis’s family, had made his way down to the castle; it would be interesting to see what spirits the wildling king would be in. 

   He walked into the main hall of Winterfell. He remembered it with fondness, thinking back to the meals he had in there. There were always so many men and women in there eating. Naturally, he had also been at the back of the room. Catelyn Stark had never wanted him towards the head table, where the actual Starks, of true and noble blood, sat. She didn't want him tarnishing their reputation too much and she had made that abundantly clear throughout his life. He didn't resent her for that but it still hurt. Despite that, he had enjoyed watching people from time to time, especially the large knights that often frequented the castle. 

   The hall lacked that vibrancy and charm as he stepped inside. Long tables were arranged with one at the top of the room and two more flanking it at either end. Many of the people though were out of their seats at the moment, standing in small groups across the room. Stannis was with Davos and Missandei towards the head table, discussing something apparently important in hushed whispers. Mance, now without a bandage on his arm, was scanning the room whilst Tormund, the only one sat down in the chair, picked at his teeth with a small dagger. His grin towards Jon made him resemble a wild animal. Jon was surprised to see Jaime Lannister also waiting in the room, along with his sellsword companion. He didn't fully trust the Lion because he had grown not to trust any of the Lannisters, maybe apart from the dwarf. But he couldn’t help but think about Bran’s words and how he had vouched for him as a changed man. He remembered how Tyrion had spoken kindly about his brother too, especially compared to his scathing remarks towards the rest of his family. Still, he made sure to stay clear of him whilst the verdict was out.

   Jon must have been the last person they were waiting for as Stannis began to speak when he noticed him enter. “I’m sure you’ve all heard. The Targaryen girl has taken up residence at my holdfast, as I allowed her. But I’m still cautious in how I should approach this recent development. I’ve only just secured this place from one opponent; I fear she views me in the same light.” 

   “In league with the last Targaryen? If I were you, I would not tell her I was here after what I did to her father. And, from my experience, it is a massive risk you’re taking in trusting her. Madness runs through their veins,” Jaime put forward.

   “If I may, I believe that she is different from the rest of her family. From all accounts, she is trying to step away from their reputation. I’d wager she’d even thank you for killing her father. She’ll know that, if that hadn’t happened, she would have had little chance of getting the throne herself.” This time it was Davos’s Scottis brogue that filled the room.

   “My Lord,” Jon spoke up, “I think it best that you grow this partnership.”

   “And why is that, Snow?”

   “I received a letter today from my friend Samwell Tarly who travelled to the Citadel in the attempt of finding a way to fight our true enemy. Somehow, he has found himself at Dragonstone, where he believes there is a large quantity of dragonglass. He’s under the impression that this can kill a white walker.”

   “He’s right.” They all turned to Mance. “It’s a rare commodity but there are plenty of stories. Some say the Night King himself was formed from it. It’s a good bet.”

    “You expect me to expose myself on the basis of a bet?” Stannis asked him. Jon brought it upon himself to answer him.

   “If there is any chance of it helping us in the war to come, then you have to take the risk. That means you need to build a relationship with her because she currently has access to all the stores.”

   “I have to think about my campaign though as well.”

   “Let me be honest here. You said it yourself - the war against the Night King has to take precedence over the fight for the throne first and foremost. That means you need to do this. Maybe it will help your campaign in the long run.”

   “You speak strongly about this.”

   Jon met his searching gaze. “I’ve seen what they’re like. We’re the only ones who will stop them so we have to find a way.” He noticed the Red Woman giving him a curious look which sent a slight shiver down his spine.

   “If that is the case, then I must stand by the vow I made to Mance here.” Jon sighed in relief. “But...I task you to go to Dragonstone yourself and tell her the same thing you have told me. You have the passion of wanting to end this that will help persuade her hopefully.” Jon was fine with that. It would be a long journey but he was willing to do it. He nodded his acquiescence. 

   “He’ll need some help Stannis,” Davos began. “If you permit it, I’ll sail with him. The boy has no experience on a ship I presume so he’ll need experience. You have enough people here,” he sent a careful glare to Missandei, “to survive without me for a while.”

   “So be it. I expect you to set off as soon as possible, seeing as it is such a pressing matter according to Snow. But only you two will go. We need to keep this partnership as quiet as possible. Spies lurk in every corner and not all of them want to help us.”

**********

   When the door opened again, the same damned light blinding her as it roared into the cell, she knew that it was definitely not a new day. The monotonous routine that she had grown used to, although begrudgingly and not without endless complaining, seemed to be broken for once. Cersei expected to see the looming figure of the giant woman but, this time, the shadow that was cast in the doorway was much smaller yet just as unpleasant and unappealing. The High Septon. He calmly and sereenly stepped into the room as if he was simply visiting an old friend. As usual, he was clad in a bare cloak and grey clothes with no shoes on his feet. She didn't understand how such a man, lacking in everything truly required to sit at the top of their societal hierarchy, held her captive. Once she was back in the Red Keep where she belonged, she would ensure that he would be the first to pay. Hopefully with his life. She detested the look he gave her, as if he pitied her. His gaze would trick any fool that he was sympathetic. She was not a fool.

   “Septa Unella informs me that we still haven’t made any progress with you and your repentance of the sins you have committed in your life,” he began. She wanted to laugh but her throat was dry and it was a mighty effort to just talk.

   “Save your words, old man. Surely by now you should realise that any ideas you have about me are false. If you acknowledge your mistake, I might deign to be lenient in your punishment.”

   “Once again you show me how you are the one with the misunderstanding. Only the gods can give out punishment.”

   “Yet you are the one who has put me in chains. Do you see yourself as a God? I’m sure vanity is much a sin as any.”

   His light chuckle infuriated her. “I work on behalf of the gods. I do so because it is often difficult for people to realise the extent of their wrongdoing and the impact this has on the people around them. I simply strive to help these people take a different path from the one they have seen fit to already take.”

   “You have no proof of any sins that I have committed.”

   “So you admit that you have, in fact, sinned? Surely that is so if your only remaining shield is that of the burden of proof.”

_ A slight misstep.  _ He’d use that against her if she couldn’t rectify that slip. “Manipulating my words so that they fit into your agenda. How very  _ noble.” _ She spat out the last word.

   “I have no thoughts about nobility. Many people of this world seem fascinated by the concept and their pursuit of it leaves their souls tainted usually.” He appeared to have an answer to everything she threw at him. She wanted to be impressed. Cersei thought it apt to change approach.

   “Is it these ideas that you fill my son’s head with? Do your gods condone the use and abuse of a child?”

   “You are once again mistaken, I’m afraid. King Tommen came to me, not the other way around. He sought my council on matters with regard to the city he immediately preside over. Although reluctant at first, when troubling matters were brought to our attention, he knew that there was only one way to deal with a growing issue.”

   “And what, if I may ask, is that issue?”

   “You.” She hadn’t wanted to accept that truth. Didn't want to think of how Tommen could betray her like that. She slumped towards the wall even further, a sigh escaping from her lips. She still clung onto the hope that he had been fed lies by someone but her grasp on that idea was slowly slipping the longer she stayed in this place.

   “Who brought this message to you?” She’d be able to add another name to the list of those she would seek vengeance against.

   “Although it is not a matter of your concern, I don’t see why I cannot tell you. The king’s wife, on the bequest of the Tyrell matriarch, informed us of the matter.”  _ Olenna. What did she know? Unless...no, she wouldn’t know about that, surely. No one could know. That wasn’t feasible.  _ With all these thoughts running through her head, she fought to keep her face expressionless. She didn't want to give the septon any indication that his words were having an effect on her.

   “So you punish me, chain me in a cell, with little food or drink, on the basis of the words of a couple of people? There is no evidence again for any wrongdoing you have been led to believe I have committed. I demand you to let me out of here, as the Queen. You have no right to hold me here for no proper reason.”

   “As the Queen Regent. You forget your place so often. Any standing you have is solely down to the want of the king. And since he was the one who ordered your imprisonment to happen, I have every right to keep you here. Although you will be happy to find out that this situation should not last much longer.” She knew she wouldn’t be happy about the reason why that was the case. 

   “And why is that?”

   “This was always meant to be a temporary solution. Simply a precaution so that justice could be reached more easily. But the time is approaching for the next step. I have seen and heard enough about your actions that you leave me with only one choice.”  _ He’s trying to sound sympathetic and reluctant. He wants this as much as anyone. _ “You will be trialled in front of seven septons here in the Great Sept within the week. If you are telling the truth, and you have not sinned in anyway, then the gods will look upon you kindly. But if you are found to be guilty of your crimes, and you fail to repent before the trial is finished, then the gods will give out only one punishment.” She knew what that would be. Death. She wondered how they’d do it. Behead her like some common criminal or traitor? Maybe they’d burn her to purify her of her  _ sins. _

   “Then it is a good job that I have not sinned.” She remained resolute even in the face of poor odds.

   He moved back towards the door. “Even if you have not done what the Tyrells claim, I know for a fact that you have sinned. I have seen it as clear as day whilst talking to you here and the gods will see it also. Your lust for power and your need for control has corrupted you. Listen to my advice. If I were you, I would greatly consider confessing before your time is up. Then the gods may be lenient towards you.” With that, he was out of the room, quickly seeing that her door was closed. Once again, she was left all alone with her thoughts and one companion. 

   Darkness.


	17. Doubts and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys has a crisis of confidence, whilst Davos and Jon prepare to leave

Night had fallen upon Dragonstone like a heavy blanket, smothering the castle in a thick layer of darkness. From his vantage point on the steps leading up to the stronghold, Bruda stood leaning on the stone wall watching large, destructive waves crash against the shore below. He enjoyed spending time outside at night since it gave him the opportunity to collect his thoughts. He realised that was doubly important at his age in case he started to forget things. His mind wandered back to their meeting with the two men. Sam and Marwyn they had called themselves. Interesting people by the looks of things. After they had explained their situation to Daenerys, the two of them, along with their dragon, had been shown to their accommodation whilst they stayed here. There was plenty of room here, that was for certain. The queen had ordered that a room in one of the lower parts of the keep be readied for them. 

   By that time, it had gotten fairly late in the evening, meaning the people of their group went their separate ways for the night. Although he doubted that many would be alone for the time being. Even within their small group, they had managed to form even smaller cliques. They probably hadn’t even noticed this had happened but he did. Always paying attention. Looking at the closer details. The Lannister dwarf would likely be with Daenerys’s right hand woman. They had taken to spending the odd evening together with a few glasses of fine wine. Tyrion had joked that Missandei had not been one for alcohol initially but he had worn her down slowly but surely. Bruda had asked if he could join them at some point; he tried not to be hurt at the quick denial that he received. Daario Naharis had become distant recently, mainly staying on board one of the ships most of the time. It slightly unnerved him - when a person was left alone, unsavory thoughts often tempted the mind. He’d make sure to have a word with the sailor when he had the chance. He fully expected Daenerys and Jorah to be together, although that particular thought made him feel queasy. The eunuch would be one of the few actually alone. He kept to his room unless called for at this time of day, writing notes and whispers that would travel across the kingdom. Varys was definitely a valuable asset and would hopefully go a long way in securing the throne for Daenerys. However, that didn't mean that, if he had to, he wouldn’t hesitate to crush the spider. Selmy, the old knight, was the person Bruda didn't know the most. He kept to himself. When around them, he stood guard silently unless spoken to. Otherwise, he would remain in his quarters, which were positioned close to where Daenerys slept, just in case something was to happen at night. Bruda liked him. The Stark girl had opened up slightly after their talk on the ship but she still spent most of her time exploring the castle, as if she was looking for the best places to hide or the areas where an attack would be most possible. She was definitely a wolf.

   As he stood watching the black sky, he was about to find out he was wrong about one of his predictions. As she walked down the steps, Daenerys was surprised to see another figure standing outside. Even though he wasn’t accompanied by his staff like he normally was, which was a rare sight, she could tell instantly that the figure was Bruda. His brown cloak, the one filled with patches of different coloured material in an attempt to hide its wear and age, billowed gently in the evening breeze. She had come out here to take a moment to appreciate the castle they currently occupied. The walls seemed to her to sing and hum with stories of the past, of her family. She had never been this close to them, to where they had once ruled by fire and fury, to Westeros. It was all becoming so real for her and, if she did not take moments like these to take stock, then it would likely overwhelm her.

   Bruda didn't notice that she was there until she stood right next to him. They stood in mutual silence for the time being, both of them looking at the blinking stars. Daenerys enjoyed the momentary peace. It was refreshing from the usual chaos that she experienced. After a few minutes, Bruda glanced at the woman by his side. “A lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to face such a biting cold.” She smiled softly at the wizard.

   “I find it quite enjoyable thank you very much. The fire within me keeps me plenty warm, even at times like this.”

   “Oh of course. How could I forget? Silly me. A true Targaryen if there ever was one.” Her smile faltered for a second at his comment. It was enough to get his attention. “Something’s eating you up inside.”

_ Of course he could tell.  _ “What if I am what you say? A true Targaryen? I’ve heard the stories, I’ve lived under the shadow of their reputation. What if, as soon as I sit on that throne, I become like my father? The Mad Queen.”

   “If that happens, I’ll give you a good bonk on the head to set you straight,” he answered her jokingly. “If I’m still around by then.” She gave him a harsh look at that.

   “Don’t you dare say something like that. I order you, as your Queen, to stay alive so that you can be by my side when I rule Westeros.” He put his hands out in front of him, palms facing her, in a sign of apology.

   “I’ll try my best,” he said, although she didn't like the hint of uncertainty in his voice. “You know, the fact that you even consider that you could go down that path makes you a greater person than your father ever was. If you appreciate that it is a possibility, then you have a chance of preventing it from happening. You just have to stay as the person you are right now. A just person who is willing to make difficult choices when you have to.”

   “It’s just...being here...it all seems so close. I’ve dreamt of ruling for years and now it could happen so soon. I don’t know, now being here, if I’m actually ready.”

   “It’s a perfectly natural feeling. You’ve never been this close to home. But remember, this is your home. You deserve to be here. You’ve worked tirelessly to get here.”

   “But I failed in Meereen. How can I rule a kingdom when I couldn’t stop a city from falling apart.”

   “You did not fail there. In fact, the city failed you. You wanted to bring about morally correct change but those fools rejected it. That wasn’t your fault. You had to leave in the end. Your goal was never to spend the rest of your days in Slaver’s Bay. You need to be here.” She thought on his words as a silence fell over them once again. His attention turned back to the night sky and she couldn’t help but watch him as his eyes scanned the ever-changing distance. 

   “What are you thinking about, looking at the stars so intently?” Her words snapped him back to reality.

   “Don’t you think it’s fascinating? We look upon these stars every night but we don’t have the faintest clue of what they’re like or what partners them out there. I have a theory. When we die, I believe that we end up dancing up in the sky, our stories playing amongst the stars so that everyone can see them. Which means that, whilst we have this lucky opportunity to live, we have to make every moment count.” He spoke so softly she struggled to hear him clearly at times. “Those stars are connected, each story having thousands upon thousands of links to other wonderful stories. Because, throughout life, your story will be filled with other people. Some will become main characters, such as friends and loved ones. Hint, hint: Jorah.” He gave her a quick wink. “Others will just pass by, a nameless face but they become a tiny part of your story until your tale is finished.”

   “That sounds very poetic and wise, Bruda.”

   “Oh, I should be wise by now.” For once, his voice seemed to carry the weight of his full age. “You have no idea how old I am Daenerys. I have met so many fantastic people throughout my life. I could speak for days about them. But I have lost just as many. A painfully large amount. That is a part of any story and, you should know, what makes a good story is not how we thrive in pleasant times but how we recover from the bad times. You never know when the bad times will hit or when your story will end so you have to work to ensure every sentence, every page, every chapter of your story is greater than the last. Then you will get to play amongst the stars for eternity.”

   She had tears in her eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

   He looked at her intently. “Because you’re stood right here. You can feel it, inside you. You’re on the precipice of your next great adventure. Daenerys, a new chapter is about to begin and it will be filled with difficult times for a certainty. You need to be ready.”

**********

   Jon had thought it apt to see his siblings before he travelled to Dragonstone. He knew it was to be a long and tiring journey and didn't know how long he would be staying there. He realised the irony of just reuniting with them after all this time, only for him to leave so soon after. Yet he understood why it had to be done and he was also quote interested in meeting the young Targaryen. He didn't know what to expect with her; all he hoped for was that she agreed in giving them access to the dragonglass. He was also excited to see Samwell once again. It had been at least a couple of months now since the two had been together. During their time at the Night’s Watch, they had spent a great deal of time together, mainly because the Tarly boy had been a useless sobbing mess without Jon’s intervention. 

   He walked through the courtyard, holding his cloak tight to his face in the attempt of keeping the freezing cold out. As he briskly went through the open area, he noticed Theon off to one side talking with his sister. He had been practically his family once. Now he looked at him with nothing but distaste. Theon looked up as the Stark bastard walked past. Jon met his stare with a scowl. He was nowhere near to forgiving him just yet.

   He found Sansa in her room. Her old room. She had promptly moved out of the one the Boltons had given her, citing bad memories as the cause of her decision. She was currently folding up one of her dresses before putting it into the drawers. Jon stood in the doorway watching her. It just seemed so normal, as if nothing bad or supernatural was heading towards them. He often dreamt of returning to the way their lives had been - Eddard would stand on the balcony as Jon and Robb would train with wooden swords, Sansa would be off somewhere learning how to be a proper princess, Bran and Rickon would be running around the courtyard with their direwolves and Arya would be exploring the depths of the grounds. Yet that would never happen. Eddard, Robb and Rickon were dead, along with Catelyn (although he had never been close to her, he was still hurt when he found out); Bran would never walk again and no longer resembled the boy he once was; Arya, if not dead herself, was somewhere that he didn't know; and Sansa had grown into the young woman before him, a much colder person now.

   “You know, you shouldn’t sneak up on people Jon,” Sansa said to him, breaking him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realised she had noticed him.

   “I didn't want to interrupt,” he responded, slightly embarrassed. 

   “Interrupt what? Me putting clothes away? Not exactly exciting or riveting.” She beckoned him inside the room; he stepped in and stood by the large bed. “Is there a reason why you paid me this visit?”

   “I needed to speak with you. We just finished a meeting with Stannis and it was decided that I need to go to Dragonstone to meet with the Targaryen.” Sansa’s expression turned sour.

   “But why?” she complained. “What reason could you possibly have to travel so far just to meet with her? You only just came back and now you’re leaving me...us.” 

   “It’s necessary. I know the most about the white walkers and she has something that will help us fight them. Or at least I hope it will.”

   “Jon, if you go south, I fear that you won’t come back.”

   “Why do you think that?”

   “Because you are too honest a man to play this stupid game. Father was the same and look what happened to him!” Her voice was high pitched, almost a shriek. 

   “This has to be done. Or we’ll lose the war.”

   “But you’re not giving me any detail about this war. Why? Is it because I’m not one of the people in charge? Not one of the men you’re always discussing matters with? I should know my place by now.”

   “You don’t need to know any of the specifics!” he argued, his voice rising. “It is my job to protect you! Not the other way around. For now, I don’t want you troubling yourself with thoughts about such evil. The time will come when we all have to face it but not now. Let the burden weigh on me.” She raised her hand to touch his cheek, lightly stroking his rough beard.

   “I’m not some little girl anymore Jon. I can protect myself but only if I know what I have to protect myself from.”

   “I promise you, when I return, we will talk about all of it. Everything.” She seemed to accept that, he could tell from the look in her eyes. “There are plenty of people here who will look after you whilst I’m gone. I trust many of them with my life so I know they will serve you well. Do you know where Bran is? I thought I should speak with him as well before I leave.”

   “I’d search the Godswood. He has spent a lot of his time there since his arrival.” Jon nodded his head and moved to leave. “Jon…” Sansa’s voice seemed to tremble, raising his concern. “I’m worried about him. He’s different.”

   Jon wore a sad smile. “I know. But he’s still our brother, that will never change. Maybe spend some time with him while I’m gone. Reconnect. Oh, and try speaking to Stannis if you can.”

   “Why?”

   “I think it’s time you were involved in our discussions.” He didn't expect the hug when it hit him.

**********

    Davos held the present tightly in his hands, not wanting to drop or damage it. The work that had gone into it was more than he had expected but he had wanted to do something nice for her before he left. He hadn’t actually seen the young girl since she had come to Winterfell with her mother. Selyse always gave him cold looks, as if he wasn’t worthy of being in their presence. He felt on the odd occasion that she was right; after all, he was basically just a common smuggler. He didn't care though since Shireen seemed to like him just enough as he was. 

   That didn't mean that, when he entered her room, he wasn’t happy when he noticed Selyse wasn’t there. He enjoyed a respite from the cold wind as he stood inside - it had messed up his fairly short beard. He looked at it and wanted to think it was the snow that had turned his beard white in patches.  _ Old age and stress...going greyer by the day.  _ Shireen looked up from where she was sitting, currently at a small table pouring over an open book, and smiled at the old man. 

   “It is so good to see you!” she exclaimed. The joy in her voice melted his heart. It had been a long time since someone so openly welcomed his visitings. 

   “And the same to you, princess.” He liked to remain somewhat formal when speaking to her; he was her father’s Hand after all. 

   “Have you kept up with your reading?” she asked with a hopeful tone. He gave a large sigh as he sat down in the other chair at the table.

   “Well...I’ve been quite busy lately, as you will probably know. War doesn’t give a man much time to sit down in a comfy chair with a book, or even a scroll or two.” Why did he feel so ashamed?  _ I’ve let her down. _

   “All I can hear are excuses from a grumpy old man. You will never improve if you don’t practice consistently,” Shireen complained, knowing she’d eventually be able to persuade him eventually. She enjoyed having a teaching role, especially getting to instruct an adult.

  “I know, I know. You have said it plenty times enough already. I will try to make time, if I can.” He raised a finger before she could jump in. “That is not a promise though. I don’t want to talk about it with you but you need to know that troubling times are brewing. And that means I have a lot to focus on right now.”

   “I understand.” He felt quiet pride at how her face was set in adamant resolution. He reached into his cloak pocket and produced two small wooden toy animals. He placed them carefully on the table in front of her and watched as her eyes lit up. She lifted one up almost reverently and examined it carefully.

   “What are these?” she asked him, tearing her eyes from the figurine to look back at Davos.

   “The one your holding is a stag. To represent your family’s sigil. Big and proud, just like your father and his brothers.”  _ Brothers who are dead now, one at the hand of Stannis in a strange way.  _ “That other one was a quick addition, I must say. A direwolf, the animal of the Starks who used to live here at Winterfell and still do - I’m sure you’ve met Sansa and Bran or will do so at some point. A direwolf is large and ferocious, with a deadly bite and is fiercely protective. And also very finicky to make out of wood.” 

   “You made these?”

   “Aye, I did. They’re a gift for you, if you want them. Because I made them, I know that they’re not the best quality.”

   “They’re gorgeous. Perfect,” she countered, smiling. “But why are you giving me a gift?”

   “I’m going on a trip on the bequest of your father and in these times, it isn’t always a certainty that I’ll return, although I’ll try my damndest to try. I thought I should give you these while I still have the chance. See them as a thank you for helping me with my reading, for being my stubborn teaching.” He had stood up in anticipation when he gave her the toys, nervous that she wouldn’t like them. She jumped out of her chair and almost tackled him with a large hug. Davos, not really knowing what to do, awkwardly patted her on the back but couldn’t help the small smile that was spreading across his face. 

   “Wait here,” Shireen instructed him and he did as he was told. She spent a few moments searching the shelves in her room before she found what she was looking for. She passed over a large book to him and he remembered what it was. It was her book full of stories, such as the ones about Balerion the Dread and brave knights. He stroked the cover before giving her a questioning glance. “It’s a gift. For you.” Now she was the one who sounded nervous. “If you’re going on a journey, then you will need to entertain yourself. And, this way, you can also practice your reading skills.”

   “Why thank you, princess.” He couldn’t remember the last time someone had got him a present. 

   “It also means you have to come back. Because I’ll need to know what you thought about all the stories.”  _ I will try my damndest. _

**********

Sansa had been right - Bran was sitting in the Godswood looking at one of the mangled faces imprinted into a weirwood tree. The first thing Jon noted was that his brother was sitting in a newly made wheelchair. He’d have to ask how this had happened without him knowing. The last he had seen was Bran being dragged around by that young girl. She wasn’t here right now that was for sure. Bran was all alone, a state that he tended to prefer by the looks of things recently. Jon, although he did want to say his farewells, wanted to use this opportunity to get some answers too. Bran had become a difficult person to have a conversation with. Jon trudged through the snow to get closer to him. As he struggled, he wondered how Bran had got here in the wheelchair. He noted the two lines in the snow that tracked from Bran’s transport but was still amazed that the wheels had managed.  _ He was probably given some assistance  _ Jon thought rationally. He loitered slightly behind the other man, because that was what Bran was now really. No longer a child, the child Jon had known, had last seen Bran as.  _ No longer normal.  _ He needed to fight those thoughts away. He still looked like Bran, at least. 

   “Hello, Jon,” Bran began. He had heard the Stark bastard slowly join him due to his heavy footsteps.

   “Bran,” he greeted in return. “You seem to have found a new way to get around. I’m glad. Can let that girl have a rest for once.” His little joke didn't seem to resonate with the other person. Bran seemed to gloss over it and focus on the more practical points of Jon’s words.

   “The previous maester was killed during the battle here.” Jon wondered what sort of a person would kill a maester and hoped that they weren’t currently in their ranks, even if they needed as many men as they could get. “The Citadel sent a new one for us and he arrived quite recently. A Scot from the sounds of things. I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually. Just send for Maester Capaldi. But he noticed my condition and quickly got to work.”

   “I can see,” Jon said with a smile.

   “You’re leaving.” This new Bran had a tendency to be abrupt.

   “How did you know? I came here to tell you just that information. Is this a part of your new...skills?”

   “Of course not. I heard people talking around the castle grounds. News travels fast around here.” Jon had the good grace to be embarrassed. 

   “Well then...I could have saved myself a cold journey.”

   “I assume you still have something else pressing on your mind.” This new Bran was deadly perceptive. 

   “I’m just curious...about what things you know concerning the Night King. Is there anything you know that can help us defeat him. You spent time past the Wall, you said. Anything might help.” Jon was almost pleading.

   “I saw him. At least, in my mind I did. But it was different, he saw me as well.” He subconsciously rubbed his arm where the marks left by the Night King had burnt into the skin. He showed Jon. “He managed to brand me. I think we have a connection. Maybe I could be the one to lure him here. He might want me for some reason.”

   “At the moment, the last thing we want is him being lured here. The longer he waits behind the Wall, the longer we have to ready ourselves. But, when the time comes, we can consider that line of thinking.”

   “I was shown part of his past by the previous Three-Eyed Raven. He was formed from a piece of dragonglass. The Children of the Forest accidentally created him as a way to protect themselves from the Free Men.” Now that was interesting. And it made his upcoming trip even more crucial than it had already been.

   “That could be something. I’ll look into it with Sam when I see him.”

   “Jon...you need to succeed with this trip. The balance of the war to come is being determined around us and this may just tip it into our favour.”

   Jon nodded, understanding the simple instructions. “I realised that. I’ll try my best.”

   “No. Your best needs to be bettered. The Night King doesn’t rest. Make sure you get there quickly. But take your time in rationalising whatever you learn. You have to ensure that you discover something. Can’t you feel it in the air. It approaches with each new day. And you’re getting closer to it, I feel that for some reason. Winter.” Jon again just nodded, attempting to work his mind around the warning.  _ Does Bran know something that he isn’t telling me?  _

   “I should be getting ready. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

   “Good luck...brother.” And in that moment, Jon realised something important. This new Bran was still the Bran he knew.

 


	18. Discoveries and Verdicts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys delves deeper into Dragonstone, whilst Cersei is put in front of the gods

After Missandei had left, Tyrion had expected to spend the rest of his evening alone with the sole company being a flagon of fruity wine that hadn’t been drunk during their time together. It was an unexpected friendship that they had formed but it was beneficial for the both of them he found. Tyrion helped Missandei come out of her shell more, whereas she gave him a different perspective on the goings on around here and life as a whole. It definitely made for interesting conversations. Yet his peace was interrupted by a knock at his door. He knew who it would likely be at this time of night. He stumbled towards the door, having to hold onto the table for a moment to compose himself. The wine was obviously having an effect on him now. He forgot how many glasses he’d consumed whilst they whiled away the hours.

   Varys stood in the dark corridor when he opened the door. He wordlessly motioned for him to enter, which he did. It was if he glided into the room, the slippers he wore making no noise on the stone floor. No words were spoken as Tyrion motioned his head to the flagon on the table, Varys nodding his head in acceptance of the beverage. Once poured, the dwarf seated himself, taking a sip from his own glass. The eunuch opted to stay standing. 

   “I’m sure you’ve heard the news from King’s Landing?” Varys began. Tyrion hadn’t. And suddenly, the pitch black setting of the night seemed to suit this conversation.  _ Spiders operate at night.  _ He noted how Varys’s eyebrows raised when Tyrion shook his head in the negative. “There has been a development. It seems there was some sort of coup against the Queen Regent. Your sister.”

   “About time. But who has the balls to take on Cersei?”

   “The King.” Varys’s short answer made Tyrion sit up quickly. This was a surprising turn of events. Tommen had always appeared to be so meak. Something had changed since he had left. 

   “What’s changed to make her own son strike against her. She’s too calculating to make such a mistake.”

   “I’ve been told that the King had a meeting with the High Septon prior to her arrest.” The Faith being involved added another dangerous element to be considered in this equation.

   “So she’s being held in the Sept?” he asked.

   “Yes. And has been for three weeks now. But that won’t last for long.”

   “I guess they’re pressing for a trial.” There was something more about it. Varys waited for him to figure it out. “A trial...but if she’s being held in the Sept, then it won’t be a usual trial. She won’t have any sway over the verdict.”

   “Exactly. The High Septon is due to preside over it, along with six other high standing followers of their religion.” Cersei was a dead woman walking then. Again, something was niggling at him.

   “What were the charges?” 

   “They haven’t made them public yet. I’m sure the trial will make them clear. But, if the Faith are involved, it will involve some sort of sin.”

   “Cersei has committed too much of that to count. There has to be something really specific that would get her in this much trouble.” He didn't care about what happened to his sister - she had treated him with nothing but hatred during their time together. But for her to be falling meant that the political landscape was shifting, which would make their efforts to place Daenerys there even more difficult.

   “Whatever it is, she is to be tried in the morning.”

   “And Tommen will be free from her scheming.”

   “From her scheming, yes. But the void will quickly be filled.”

   Tyrion realised what the eunuch was implying. “The wife. The Tyrells. They’re practically the most powerful family in Westeros now because they’ll control the King.”

   “As well as the High Septon. He now sits on the Council too.” Tyrion figured out what was bugging him so much.

   “What about Jaime?” The one person in his family he truly cared for. Probably the only one who cared for him.

   “Disappeared as if he was simply a puff of smoke, although some of my Birds saw him leave the city limits accompanied by another man. We don’t know where he was heading.” The important thing was that he had gotten himself out of there and was probably safe now.

   “He did the right thing.”

   “Maybe that’s so but it means there is only one Lannister in the capital and your uncle Kevan was never the strongest lion. Certainly a good advisor but will not be tempted by a better offer.”

   “So it is likely that we will have to take the city by force.”

   “It was always likely, especially with the way our Queen is. But I serve the Realm Tyrion and it cannot survive a full blown attack. When the time comes, we have to persuade Daenerys to seek a more peaceful route. The people will bow to her in that case, instead of falling in the ash.”

   “I’ll give you that task. She wants that Throne more than anything else. Although don’t forget she is under the influence of the Mormont knight, as well as the wizard. I believe they would advocate for a safer approach.”

   “Be that as it may, she will have to remove the king. Your nephew. And I’m sure you know what I mean by remove.” Tyrion’s smile faded at the thought. Tommen was still just a boy. “And she must get rid of him permanently if she is to be secure on the Throne.”

   “That was the point of this conversation. To assuage my loyalty to the Queen.”

   “No, not the Queen. The Realm. It has struggled with the prospect of usurpers for too long. It will benefit from being ruled by an outright commander.”

   “I left my family behind a long time ago. You helped, Varys. I serve Daenerys and only Daenerys.”

   “Then we should be fine.”

   “And I expect there will be a lot of time before we have to face these decisions. The Queen is being pulled further North to fight another war. A war that will determine the state of your precious realm.”

**********

   The morning came with a bright shining sun that juxtaposed the restless night of before. There was one thing on the agenda for those living on Dragonstone today and that was to visit the caves beneath the castle that were said to hold the main reserves of dragonglass. The group walked across the sand as they approached the cave system. Daenerys led them, curious to find out what secrets lay beneath her ancestral home. She was flagged by Jorah, who was slightly apprehensive about them all going in when it could surely collapse on them, and Bruda, who was looking forward to see this discovery. Tyrion was attempting to keep up with them but thought it easier to keep pace with Sam and Marwyn, the least physically fit out of the group.

   They stopped outside the large cavernous mouth that led into the cave. Jorah gave Daenerys an uneasy look before reaching for a torch that some Unsullied guards had left when they were sent to initially check it out. He placed it briefly into an open fire to set it alight before they all slowly walked inside. Even with the fire, it was still incredibly dark inside the cave. Bruda rolled his eyes at the Mormont knight and lifted his staff into the air. A ball of blue light grew from the tip before it elegantly floated away, reaching the roof of the cave. The light seemed to bounce off the shiny rock embedded into the walls, sending shards of light criss-crossing around them. It took Daenerys’s breath away, seeing such natural beauty. Jorah lifted his hand to touch one of the beams of light, watching as it weaved in between his fingers.

   “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Bruda was feeling the wall with one hand, dragging his palm against the rough surface.

   “It’s more than we will ever need,” he replied, a small grin lighting up his face. She eyed him with thinly veiled disgust and amusement when he licked his palm tentatively, as if to get a sense of what the dragonglass was like. He was as strange a person as she had met. And she thoroughly enjoyed his company, the old warlock straight from out of her young childhood dreams.

   Marwyn looked around. “We will be able to arm an entire army judging by the amount in here. And this is just the front part of the cave. It will go on for quite a while, I’m sure.”

   “Is there a practical and safe way to extract the dragonglass without risking the foundations of the castle?” Jorah asked the archmaester.

   “Luckily, Dragonstone is mainly built upon sturdier ground so, even if this was to collapse, very little damage would come to it. But, if we were to start at the very back of the cave, with enough people, then it should be no danger to those in here.” The knight nodded his head at the reassurances.

   “Jon will be gobsmacked by this when he sees it.” This time it was Sam who spoke, prompting the others to look at him.

   “Jon?” Daenerys questioned.

   “J...Jon Snow, your Grace. My best friend. He’s working with Stannis Baratheon at Winterfell and is the one person who was pushing this issue.”

   “The Stark bastard. Worked with my father on the Wall,” supplied Jorah. Daenerys looked at him carefully, noting his distant voice as he spoke.

   “With such backing, I look forward to meeting him,” she said, her voice echoing against the dark walls. “But that isn’t my concern right now. I want to explore all...this.” The walls seemed to go on forever, reaching into the deepest darkness ahead of her and above her. She watched amused as Bruda examined the dragonglass. The wisps of energy in his staff appeared to want to reach out to the stone, which seemed to confuse but also entertain the warlock. She walked up to him. “Why is it doing that?” He looked at her with wide eyes, his back bent over slightly.

   “I...don’t know. Isn’t that exciting. When the mining process begins, I’d like to take a closer look at a specimen.”

   “I’m sure that can be arranged. Since it’s you.”

   “Khaleesi,” Jorah shouted out to her from up ahead. “There’s a path down here that leads further into the cave. You might want to take a look at this.” She looked at Bruda’s aged face and saw him raise his eyebrows in invitation. They walked at a quick pace to catch up with the others before they entered the next large alcove. The dragonglass was less obvious here but Daenerys’s attention wasn’t on that. Her eyes were drawn to crude but mesmerising drawings across the stone walls. Bruda almost ran to look at one example, his finger tracing a looping pattern.

   “How long have these been here?” It was Marwyn who answered her.

   “They appear to originate from the Children of the Forest. Which means they are much older than this castle, as well as that Throne you strive for.”

   She looked at one of the paintings, marvelling at the abundance of colour shown. “What are they showing?”

   “I’ve seen images like this before in books of my childhood,” Tyrion said. Daenerys had almost forgotten he was there with them. “The smaller people represent the Children. The taller ones are the First Men.”

   “So they drew images of their war against the first men?” she asked them.

   “No, no,” Marwyn responded, shaking his head lightly. “They are fighting together in the drawings, against a common enemy.” The archmaester moved towards a darker image that was tucked into the corner. It depicted three figures, with one closer to the forefront. They were similar to men but where white, and their faces were cragged and broken. The closest one seemed to have horns on its head as well. 

   “What are they?” she whispered, getting close to Jorah. He looked at her warily.

   “I think that’s what we’re heading to fight,” he answered her in a similar tone.

**********

   The ship rocked gently from side to side as it glided over the waves. The deep blue water seemed to part in the wake of the boat as they crusaded the ocean. Davos watched this happen and then repeat from upon the deck. The action tended to calm him, especially from his annoying thoughts. This journey they were going on just didn't settle with him properly. He expected something to go wrong; he didn't know yet whether that would happen at Dragonstone whilst they were there or back at Winterfell. The thought of Shireen being trouble and him not being able to help her sent a cold shiver down his back. He was leaving judgement until he met the Targaryen girl about what she was like and what her motives were. They had a bad reputation, that was for sure yet Jon said this was their only hope. He had come to trust the lad a lot even if they hadn’t spent a lot of time together. It was the way he spoke, that no nonsense attitude that he had. It buoyed the confidence when it truly needed lifting. That didn't mean he hadn’t realised how young boys like him often charged into a situation when it was usually more appropriate to use a cool head. At least they had a few men to protect them if something did go wrong. Stannis had made sure a hundred soldiers and sailors came with them, not just as a precautionary measure but also to show the people at Dragonstone that they would not be shoved aside easily.

   “Thank you for joining me on this...trip.” He was startled by the boy’s voice next to him. Despite the situation they were heading into, Jon still had a small smile on his face. 

   “No thanks needed. I realised that you need someone with at least a small experience of diplomacy if you are to get through this meeting unscathed.” The smile faltered for a moment. Jon hadn’t thought about that. He had just presumed that Daenerys would gladly hand over the dragonglass in the name of their alliance. Davos could feel the sudden increase in worry. “We should be fine. Should being the main word there. It won’t hurt if we play it safe when we meet her and her council. Remember to treat them with respect but don’t let them bend you over.”

   “That’s a very fine line you’ve drawn for me,” Jon said, a laugh escaping his lips. He’d been slightly reassured by Davos’s words of wisdom.

   “Then get practicing your balancing. But, if she is reasonable, which I really hope she will be, then it shouldn’t be too difficult. The only issue would arise if you went into the conversation expecting a positive outcome. It’s a likelihood but not dead certain.”

   “She’ll have to see that we need this dragonglass to save Westeros.” Davos wanted to sigh; the boy was so adamant and stubborn in regards to that growing issue that he was becoming blind to another.

   “You can talk about what’s right to her until you’re blue in the face. I know that it is a major concern of yours, of ours, but she won’t see it like that. She hasn’t experienced the North or what horrors lie waiting for us. For all she knows, you could be a spy trying to undermine her campaign for the Throne.”

   “It always comes back to that bloody throne!” Jon shouted into the open sea ahead of them. His head dropped so that he was looking directly down at the glistening water.

   “Aye. Welcome to the world of politics. Completely different to your world of fantasies and demons but no less terrifying at times. It just adds another element to consider in these discussions. I’m hoping she’ll trust you enough to put on hold her desires to fight this war.”

   “Do you think it’s likely?” There was a new found vulnerability in Jon’s voice as he spoke in that moment.  _ He’s too young to be in this position. Thrust into this situation with the heaviest of burdens on his back.  _

   “Jon, from what I have seen, if anyone can persuade her, it’s you. You managed to help unite the wildlings with Stannis’s army, which is no mean feat by the way. Without a lot of evidence, you got Stannis on your side against our common enemy. You’re more of a diplomat than you realise.” They went back to looking at the ocean. Around them, they could hear the others on the ship milling around, making sure everything was in order. This was where Davos used to belong. Sailing across the many seas. It was nice to be back on a ship like this but he felt an odd emptiness at the thought now. It was strange to him but he knew that his life had changed so much that it meant he was more accustomed to being a figure in the games of rulers now. It probably had something to do with how he had been betrayed by a ship in essence - that was where he had lost his son after all. He was probably still in the water somewhere, dead. And everyone else would be dead if they didn't succeed.

   It had been another couple of days until they were awoken by the loudest sound they had ever heard. It had made Davos quickly leave his room and make his way up on deck, an action mirrored by Jon. They looked up at the sky, shielding their eyes from the bright sun, in an attempt to see what had made the sound. Further away this time, they heard it again. It sent dread down their spines. An ear-splitting roar, a noise that shouldn’t exist anymore. Then, a shadow appeared against the Sun, getting larger by the second. He knew what it was from the books Shireen had made him read. 

   The dragon, black with hints of red around its body, soared over their heads, so close that it blew the sails and their clothes wildly. It took six men to keep their course true. Jon marvelled at the creature, as did Davos. In some respects, he wished he had brought Shireen with him so she could see for herself how her stories were true. The dragon lazily circled them, as if it was assessing whether to let them continue. Jon looked at it hopefully; if Daenerys agreed to help them, then this would be a mighty tool against the White Walkers. They were so distracted by the beast that the two of them hardly noticed their destination comes into view on the horizon. Davos had spent a long time in its bowels and the castle looked even more imposing than it usually did.

   In Dragonstone itself, Jorah hurried to get to Daenerys’s room. It was on the other side to the castle as to what was approaching them so she wouldn’t know just yet. He knocked politely on her door, although more hastily than he usually did. When she allowed him entry, he quickly walked into her room. She was draped on a soft bench in front of a large window. She lifted her head to see what the problem was but was surprised to see that her knight wasn’t exactly in distress. 

   “Jorah,” she said with uncertainty. “What’s happening?”

   “They’re here, Khaleesi.”  _ Now this should be interesting. _

**********

   They led her into the main chamber shackled in chains, as if she were cattle. She was still the Queen! The disgrace of it all and the humiliation could be felt deep within her core. Cersei looked at the size of the crowd packed within the Great Sept of Baelor and it certainly added to the injustice of it all. These were commoners, watching on as she was tried. They should all be tried in her eyes. Filthy pigs, the lot of them. As she was forced to move into the centre of the room, she noticed more familiar faces. The Tyrell women, Olenna and Margaery, sat close to the front, the same smirk lining their faces. What hurt was seeing Tommen there too, an expressionless look on his face. It was like he didn't care what the outcome was. He looked at her as if she was one of those commoners. Not worth his time. In that moment, she lost any remaining faith that she would get through this. 

   The High Septon was stood in his usual tatty robes. Did he not care for ceremony? Or was that a sin too? The voice inside her head was scathing. She found it helped her slightly in this awful situation. As she stood in the centre of the circle on the floor, she locked eyes with other six septons sat in wooden chairs around her. The people who would bring judgement down. None of them looked her in the eye too. Apart from the High Septon himself. She had a bit of respect for him in that moment. A bit.

   “Welcome,” he began, speaking loudly so the large crowd would be able to hear him properly. “Today is a solemn affair.”  _ How can he say such words with a straight face?  _ “Today we ask the gods to look down upon Cersei Lannister in judgement for her potential sins. We ask them to be as just and correct as they always are in deciding her fate. Yet this woman could still decide her fate for herself. Cersei Lannister.” He looked at her directly this time, instead of the crowd. “I ask you, do you repent of any and all sins you have committed.” When she didn't answer, she didn't know whether the sorrow on his face was real or well faked. “So be it.”

   Then came the witnesses. They went by like a blur, each adding to her misery. Olenna Tyrell spoke of her secret dalliances. How she had known about her love affair with Jaime was unknown but the crowd lapped it up like drama-hungry dogs. Margaery, that sickly sweet smile on her face, spoke of how she had tried to manipulate Tommen to do her bidding. She wanted to shout at her, to tell the public of how she was doing the same. Yet she kept her mouth closed. Anything she said would cement her woeful position. They would use any outburst to show how she was growing insane after all her years in the Red Keep. Pycelle, that old rat, hobbled up to speak and wittered on about how she had often asked strange favours of him. Asking him to look up peculiar ingredients or ancient laws. He never went into detail, which didn't surprise her really. He’d be too worried about putting himself in her position if he spoke too much.

   The one witness that surprised her was Lancel Lannister. He had a strange marking etched into her forehead and his hair was now practically shaven, instead of the long blonde hair that she remembered. She almost collapsed out of desperation when he told everyone about their incestual relationship. Even Olenna seemed surprised at the revelation, which showed how well kept a secret it had been. She wanted to know why he had given into the High Septon. Then the person in question spoke to the crowd, who she noticed were beginning to want Lancel to pay for his crimes too. At least the attention was off her for the time being. He told them of how Lancel had willfully come to him and sought repentance of his sins. Apparently, the gods had been merciful.  _ How fortunate. Would they act the same to her?  _

   Over ten witnesses came forward to speak of her misgivings. The hearing lasted at least two hours, although it felt longer to Cersei. Once they had spoken, the High Septon gathered the other high standing followers of the Faith so they could discuss what they thought of what they had heard. She tried to listen in but they whispered too quietly. Their discussion was over far too quickly for her liking.

   “Before I deliver the judgement the gods have sought through us, I feel I must ask one more time. Cersei Lannister, will you repent of any and all sins you have committed?” This time she truly considered the option. She knew it was her only chance now. Her voice was raspy due to a lack of use when she spoke.

   “I repent.” The crowd acted as if they couldn’t hear, or maybe they couldn’t. She spoke louder the next time. “I repent.” The High Septon nodded his head slowly.

   “That is commendable. And I hope you have learnt a valuable lesson in doing so, in admitting one’s mistakes when our pride holds us back.” Things seemed to be on the up for Cersei. “Yet some mistakes are too large to be undone in the eyes of the gods. I take it upon myself to deliver their judgement in front of all of you today. Cersei Lannister, the gods take note of your repentance and acknowledge how that can redeem oneself from their sins. But they also acknowledge how your crimes are severe and, in their eyes, a single declaration of repentance is insufficient. Let it be known, that the gods look down upon Cersei Lannister and charge her with death.”

   Cersei stood there in shock. “But I repent!” she screamed at his face. Three guards were quickly by her side and began to drag her out of the chamber. “But I repent!” she repeated, even more ferociously, and she kept repeating herself as she was forced away, back into the darkness of her cell.


	19. Diplomacy and Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos and Jon are welcomed into Dragonstone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've flown past the 80,000-word mark now so why not leave a comment. Any support is welcome - it's great to hear your thoughts on what has been written and where you expect the story to go.

 Davos and Jon, flanked by six of the best men Stannis had provided them with, were met on the small beach with the castle of Dragonstone looming over it by three quite startlingly different men. In the centre of the small group stood Jorah, wearing his full suit of armour, deep black and accentuated by a black cloak. Daenerys had instructed him to put it on to show his standing within her court and his talents as a knight. She had also told him he looked quite dashing in it, which he had promptly blushed at. On his left stood Bruda, holding his metal staff in his right hand. He made sure to stand up straight, not leaning on the staff like he usually did. Daenerys, who wanted this meeting to go well as it was her first in Westeros, wanted him to look as powerful as he truly  was. He eyed the two men with curiosity, his salt and pepper beard gently blowing in the breeze. He noted how their attention was mainly focused on him. He guessed it was because he looked like he didn't really belong here, in his tattered cloak and worn trousers. That was also more noticeable compared with Tyrion, who was dressed in a fine black striped doublet. 

   Jon’s attention, although at first directed at the oldest of the three men, was soon on Tyrion Lannister. It was a few years since he had seen the small lion and he looked a lot more refined now than he had done on the Wall. He sent a small smile and a nod to the imp, which was returned in kind. They stopped a couple of feet away from the greeting party, an awkward silence ensuing momentarily. 

   “It’s good to see you Tyrion,” Jon said, breaking the hush.

   “Same to you, Snow. You finally got away from the Wall it seems,” came the reply.

   “Barely. They’ll still want me back one day but that is in the distant future. My brothers know what my goal is and I’m sure they’ll have to join me soon.” The mention of what they were facing changed the tone of the conversation drastically darker. Davos stepped forward to alleviate some of the tension. 

   “Davos Seaworth,” he said, introducing himself as he shook hands with each of the men. “Lord Snow’s advisor for the journey.”

   “So this Snow needs an advisor?” Bruda asked, a hint of derision in his voice.

   “Of course. Any man who is wise will accept any and all advice that he can get so that the decisions he makes are made to the best of his intentions. I’m sure you won’t complain when I advise him to not slice your head off if you irritate him.” Bruda smirked at the response.

   “I’d like to see him try. Maybe he’d get two steps in. If he’s a lucky lad.”  _ Oh we’re going to get on just splendidly,  _ he thought to himself. Davos let loose a small bark of laughter at the warlock’s rebute. Jorah wasn’t too happy that the conversation had quickly become a bunch of threats so attempted to steer the topic back to why they were here.

   “I’m Jorah Mormont, of Bear Island.” Jon shook his hand after a moment’s pause and looked him in the eye.

   “I worked with your father. He was a great man, taught me a lot of things about life. I was sorry that I couldn’t prevent his death.”

   “Tyrion informed me of his passing. He died thinking he had no true son anymore. Maybe he was right about that.”

   “He told me of your exile and how you supposedly disgraced him and your family. But you never took Longclaw with you, which tells me you didn't want any part in what happened. Not truly. And if he could see you now, how you stand with honour on your back in the name of the house Targaryen, then he would know you were still his son.” Jorah bowed his head at his words, feeling for the first time in a long time that he was a proper and true Mormont again. Davos nodded his head approvingly at Jon’s successful attempt at diplomacy.

   “I’m sure Daenerys is waiting impatiently for your arrival,” Tyrion said. “I must warn you that it’s quite a climb to reach the castle. Especially for someone like me.” With that, they began walking up the steps that led to Dragonstone. The wind became wilder as they get higher up. As Davos and Jon looked around at the surroundings, mainly at the large fleet floating in the water nearby, they heard a familiar roar once again. Drogon swooped over their heads, quickly followed by Viserion and Rhaegal. Jon stared at them in adoration, awe and wonder as they danced across the sky. They seemed to be playing some sort of game with each other.

   “As you can see, Daenerys has three fully grown dragons,” Jorah quietly said to Jon. They were walking side by side up the steps, both looking at the beasts as they rolled around each other. Sometimes, one would let out a short burst of fire to try and prove their strength. It mesmerised Jon.

   “Fully grown?” he asked, wondering why he had phrased it like that.

   “Well, we were recently introduced to a fourth dragon. Just a hatchling but growing at a faster rate than the others did. Your friend brought him to us.”

   “Sam?”

   “Indeed. You can tell that Hidebyo, the smallest, wants to get involved with the others but he can only really climb across the rocks here. His flying is restricted to only a few minutes at a time but he’ll soon be like them. Ferocious and powerful. I practically raised the three of them from when they were that size but they share a special connection to our Khaleesi.”

   “They’re gorgeous,” Jon whispered. Jorah looked at the young man. Daenerys would definitely like him. And, for some reason, he didn't know how he felt about that. His doubts had to be put to one side as they eventually reached the large doors that marked the entrance to the castle. 

**********

   Missandei was waiting for them outside the doors of the throne room. She smiled at the newcomers but also sent a small glare to the other three men, particularly Tyrion. 

   “Queen Daenerys is anticipating your arrival inside,” she began, her voice turning to one of the  Queen’s representative. It quickly changed back as she greeted the others. “And she is probably wondering why it took so long for you to bring them up.” Jorah and Tyrion had the grace to look abashed in front of her ire but Bruda simply chuckled and patted her on the shoulder, as if she were an old friend. He turned to the others as he did so.

   “This fine woman is Missandei of Naath, advisor and handmaiden to the gorgeous Queen,” he told them. “As you can see, she is just as fiery.” He tilted his head to look at her. “We were simply getting acquainted seeing as there is no rush. Unless something has changed while we were out.” She sighed heavily, knowing that she’d never win with the warlock. She hated how he knew that point too. He gave her a smug smile and another pat before he entered the room, closely followed by Jorah and Tyrion.

   Whereas Jon simply shook Missandei’s hand when he introduced himself, Davos bowed his head and planted a light kiss on the top of her outstretched hand. She tried not to blush at the older man’s actions. She had never been treated so cordially by someone she didn't know.

   “Missandei of Naath,” he said, his Scottish brogue extending the length of the name of her home. “A true pleasure. I had the good fortune of travelling to your home city a few times in the past. A lovely and vibrant place so I did not suit it very much.” She laughed at his joke, prompting Jon to look surprisingly at his companion.  _ The old guy still has it. _ “When did you leave there to join this Daenerys?” he asked. 

   “I was a slave there so I do not have good memories of that place.”

   “Oh, I apologise. I didn't know,” Davos apologised.

   “How could you know? It is not your fault. Daenerys freed me as part of a bargain.”

   “And then she put you in her service instead?” He was trying to ascertain what type of person Daenerys was.

   “I was free and given the choice to enter her service. And I have never regretted that decision. All she wants is to rid the world of injustice.” Her tone was harder when she spoke now. Davos nodded his head approvingly.

   “A worthy cause. But an unlikely one. Yet we’re not here to help her with that just yet.” He allowed Missandei to lead them into the throne room and they both stopped at a respectful distance from Daenerys. She surveyed them minutely as they stood there in her presence. She was purposefully trying to portray a more severe leader in front of the newcomers, keeping her face expressionless. Jon looked at her in surprise, not expecting the last Targaryen to be so...beautiful wasn’t a good enough word for him. He tore his eyes away from her though when he noticed Jorah glaring at him. 

   “Welcome gentlemen,” Daenerys began, her voice ringing out across the large room. “We’ve been looking forward to your arrival for quite some time. Who has the noble Stannis Baratheon seen fit to send in his place?” Jon was the first to step forward.

   “Jon Snow, milady. It’s an honour.” It was a strange feeling for Daenerys when she spoke. She had once been used to people grovelling at her feet at times, talking to her with nothing but respect. Jorah certainly was one of those people and he still often called her ‘khaleesi’ or ‘your grace’. Yet, since the arrival of Bruda, her attitudes had been changed. She now enjoyed when people were willing to talk to her as if she was simply another person. A companion, not a leader. That didn't mean she’d accept disrespect but Bruda was still polite to her. That was what she wanted - someone who treated her with respect, not because she was queen, but because they wanted to. Even Jorah was learning to take that risk with her. She looked at Jon and just saw someone putting on an act. Making sure he took part in the expected pleasantries. It was boring.

   “Davos Seaworth, your Grace,” Davos spoke loudly. “Hand of Stannis Baratheon and the man wanting to know what your intentions are here.”  _ Less boring. _

   “My intentions are simple. I plan to sit on the Iron Throne as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Since it is my right.”

   “So you want Stannis to stand aside as you take what he wants also?”  _ Blunt. Straight to the point. But well in his means to ask such a question. _

   “Not at all. I want to work with him. We can both work together to ensure we win back the throne. Ultimately, it will be me who sits on it but Stannis would not be forgotten. We would practically rule together. Uniting two houses that were once foes would send a powerful message to the people of Westeros, don’t you think? And I’m sure he would be quite happy relocating to Storm’s End after the war is won.” Davos nodded to that, knowing what that would mean to Stannis. Jorah looked at Daenerys with a soft smile, marvelling at how she looked so much like an experienced ruler. When she noticed his look, she gained more confidence from his apparent approval.

   “So you are willing to work together with us?” Jon asked. 

   “I thought I made that perfectly clear just then,” she responded with some impatience.

   “What I think he is trying to get at,” Davos interrupted. “Is whether you will fight with us when the Dead arrive. We don’t think it will be long before they do. Reports get worse every day, claiming the Wall is beginning to almost...sweat.” Bruda scrunched his face up in thought at that. He needed to examine that dragonglass.

   “I have been shown evidence of what you talk about by your friend Samwell Tarly. I don’t intend to rule an island of ash. And seeing as you seem so committed to this cause, I see no reason why I wouldn’t fight with you.”

   “Thank you, your Grace,” Jon immediately said, getting down on one knee. She wanted to roll her eyes.

   “We examined the dragonglass stores a short while ago. Tarly said you wanted access to it. I have no use of it as it is so the excavation process can begin when you want. My men will gladly cooperate with yours to get the job done. I have enough ships to carry it over to the mainland when that is complete. We will send it over before us as a sign of goodwill to this alliance. But note that I will only fully commit to this once I have met him in person and a declaration of our partnership put in writing.” They were eager to agree to her terms.

***********

   Jon was soon led down a dark corridor by one of the Unsullied guards. His silence and lack of expression was quite intimidating, and left him alone with his thoughts. The first meeting with Daenerys had gone exceptionally better than anticipated, especially because she had agreed to give them the dragonglass they so badly needed. After that, they had soon been excused so that they could be escorted to their temporary accommodation. His thoughts were interrupted though by his name being exclaimed by a voice he instantly recognised. He turned around quickly to see the large figure of Samwell Tarly rushing towards him. He hurtled into Jon, enveloping him in a crushing hug yet Jon could do nothing but smile at the familiar interaction. He even made the effort to ignore the occasional sob from his best friend. He gestured for the guard to leave them, which he did after a moment’s hesitation.

   “It is so good to see you again, Sam,” Jon said quietly, meaning every word. He had missed the Tarly boy a lot more than he expected and he realised that he had been through a lot since Sam had left Castle Black. “But it is even better to know that your journey was a successful one.”

   “Oh yes. It was a simple journey to Old Town. Me and Gilly got there...oh Gilly! She’s still there, for her own good I said. She wasn’t too happy but I had to make sure. You see, one of the archmaesters there took an interest in me because of the queries I had. And it turns out that he has been looking into white walkers in secret for most of his career.” Sam was rambling but Jon allowed him to continue uninterrupted; it was the easiest way to get the details out of him. “We had a few meetings, discussing our theories and I told him about how I killed a wight with a piece of dragonglass. Naturally, we then planned to come here because Marwyn...he’s the maester by the way...said that they had a large amount. I thought we’d be allowed to get in because I know you and you’re close with Stannis Baratheon now but the guards didn't seem to believe us. Turns out that they were waiting for someone else to get here, not us.”

   “Daenerys.” 

   “Exactly. I was quite alarmed when we had to go stand in front of her but she listened to what we had to say. And she took us down to the caves, where the dragonglass is. Oh, you should see it Jon, it’s simply marvellous. And there were drawings of white walkers, which seemed to convince her that we were telling the truth.”

   “It sounds like you did my job for me. Have you been treated well by her?”

   “Of course, of course. We were given a room down here - looks like you’ll be getting something similar. We mainly just keep to ourselves though. Haven’t spoken to many of her advisors. The warlock scares me.”

   “Warlock?”

   “Have you not met him? Older man, beard, walks around with a staff?” Sam was sure that he would have met him if he had spoken to the Queen.

   “I didn't realise he was a warlock.” In truth, Jon hadn’t paid much attention to the strange man who spoke with an exuberance that didn't match his apparent age. “That should be interesting. I was told you gave her a dragon?”

   “We haven’t given Hidebyo to her, no. Marwyn was given a dragons egg years ago and thought it time to see if it was real. We placed it in wildfire, Jon. It was terrifying. But it worked. He’s growing so fast. But enough about me. You’ve been just as busy by the sounds of things. What was it like? Fighting to get Winterfell back?” Before Jon could answer, they were interrupted by another person speaking.

   “Jon?” The voice came from further down the corridor, prompting him to turn around. Another voice he would always recognise. Arya was stood a bit away from them, dressed in a leather brown top and brown pants, with a fur cloak draped over her shoulder. It was startling to Jon how much she resembled their father. 

   Arya hadn’t been aware of the arrival of more people until after they had met with Daenerys. She had been on her way to try and find out who they were, planning on climbing up a suitable wall she had found to spy on the party. Instead, she had heard voices down the corridor she was walking in and had made sure to keep to the shadows but then, as she got closer, she had heard his voice.

   “How did you sneak up on us?” Jon asked her, worried that his senses were dimming.

   “How did you manage to become a leading diplomat for a Baratheon?” They stared at each other before they both broke into a smile. Arya ran at him and leapt into his strong arms, Jon holding her close as they hugged. He eventually lowered her to the floor and introduced her to Sam, who he had forgotten was stood there during their little reunion. He looked down at her and noticed a glint of metal by her side.

   “You kept it.” She drew the small sword out from its place at her waist and held it out across her palms.

   “Needle,” came the reply, a proud smile on her face. It was her only memento of a home she had left behind.

   “Have you ever had to use it?” he asked hesitantly. Her smile faltered.

   “Once or twice.” He looked forlornly at her, wishing that she hadn’t been through whatever she had. Wishing that he hadn’t left her behind all those years ago. But now they were together, and they would be able to go home together. That’s if their home would last the coming war. Yet, for now, he didn't want to think about any of that. He didn't need to discuss such things with his little sister. He had thought she was likely dead and yet she stood right in front of him, a young woman who still resembled the small girl he had known. They had a lot of catching up to do.

 

**********

   Jorah and Daenerys were sat in her private chambers, enjoying being able to spend some time in each other’s company. Since their arrival at Dragonstone, it had been increasingly chaotic, especially with the unexpected arrival of Sam and Marwyn, coupled with the visit of Jon and Davos. Jorah had noticed that, ever since she had been introduced to the threat of the white walkers, her demeanour had become more serious. The only times it changed were when Bruda made her laugh, not always on purpose, or when they were together. He did also enjoy getting to be with her when she wasn’t in the persona of an imperious ruler.

   Daenerys was sat on a plush sofa, one of the few luxuries left behind in the castle. She enjoyed lying on it, spending her time thinking about the situation she was in. She was being driven off course. She had come to Westeros for the throne yet she was now becoming embroiled in a war she had little knowledge about. That didn't mean she didn't believe what she had been told about the white walkers but she wondered why fate was pushing her towards the North. Bruda had spoken to her a couple of times about how something was pushing them towards Winterfell and he seemed content with letting whatever it was direct them. It almost felt like he wanted, or even needed, to go. She trusted him though, against her better judgement, and had decided she would go there. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew more than he let on.

   Jorah was stood up towards the corner of the room. He had taken off his armour after their guests had been shown to their rooms. He was now clad in his yellow tunic and brown pants. It was too cold for shorts he had found. He watched Daenerys as she battled with her thoughts and knew that had to distract her from them so that she could relax at least a little bit. “You did well today, Khaleesi,” he spoke, his voice sounding louder than it was against the quiet that had settled. His words brought her attention back to the present as she sat up on the sofa.

   “You think so?” She still always liked to hear his praise. She poured herself a drink, a sweet honey wine that they had brought over from Essos. 

   “Definitely. You become more of a ruler with each day. It is quite frightening to see the girl I once knew sat up there.” 

   “I am a woman now, Jorah. I thought I had gotten that into your head.” She smirked at his blush and subsequent stammering. “Maybe I’ll just have to remind you at some point.” He was already looking forward to it.

   “My point is,” he began, trying to tear his thoughts away from... _ that. _ “You are showing them that you will not roll over. Proving to them that you will one day be a good Queen, one that the kingdom needs desperately.” 

   “Do you think I’m doing the right thing though? Agreeing to fight in a war I have no stakes in?” Hearing herself voice these questions reminded her of how she still had concerns about risking everything on this.

   “You want to rule Westeros. Normal thinking would tell you that you should then focus on winning the throne before committing to another war.”

   “So I’m making a mistake.”

   “No, no. This isn’t a normal situation. You should join them. If we lose, then there would be nothing to rule anyway. But, if we win, then it will be easier for you to take what is yours. If you targeted King’s Landing first, then you risk giving the Night King the upper hand.”

   “You believe what they say then? The dead coming back to life to kill us, their ruler able to turn us into his soldiers?”

   “I was brought up on Bear Island listening to stories about them. If they speak the truth, then we can’t take the risk of not fighting.”

   “You didn't answer my question,” she said teasingly.

   “At first, I thought they spoke nonsense. The White Walkers were said to have been wiped out thousands of years ago. But I can tell in their eyes that they speak the truth. The fear that’s within them. That could only be caused by those monsters. Know this, Khaleesi, fighting in this war will probably result in our deaths. But know that I will fight until the very end to ensure that you have the best chance of surviving.” He spoke with such an intensity that she suddenly found it very difficult to breath.

   “I hope that it never comes to that.”

   “And it might not. Don’t forget, we have a box of tricks in Bruda. He might be able to stop them.”

   “We can’t just rely on him though. And I don’t want him getting the idea in his head that he has to sacrifice himself to save us all.”

   “I didn't mean it like that. I talked about him because he is the evidence you need to see that things we have no understanding on are a part of our life. Some, like our friend, are beneficial whereas others, like the White Walkers, aren’t. Bruda has shown you that, even if you can’t wrap your head around it, you can still believe in it. So you’re making the right decision, Khaleesi.”

   She smiled at him, her knight. “You sound as adamant as that Jon Snow.” She was surprised to see his expression turn sour at the mention of that name. “What? Do you not like him?”

   “It’s not that. I presume he is a very brave and able fighter and looks like he is fit to be a ruler of an army. That will help you in either war you fight.”

   “So why did you turn your nose up at the thought of him.”

   “It doesn’t matter.” The look she gave him told him that it actually did now. “It was just the way he...was looking at you in the throne room…” He left it at that, not wanting to add to his embarrassment. Daenerys wanted to laugh but knew it wouldn’t help the situation. She stood up from the sofa and approached him, a teasing smile dancing on her lips.

   “Oh my bear, who knew you could give in to such feelings as jealousy.” He wanted to repute that accusation but any ability to talk on his behalf was ceased as she stepped on her toes to kiss him passionately on the lips.


	20. Meetings and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys begins to question where Bruda's loyalties lie as the kingdom takes a large step towards war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of stuff is introduced in this chapter that will have a bearing on the future of the story. Any theories about what will happen or any thoughts about what has been? Please feel free to leave a comment below.

Stannis Baratheon looked down upon the hive of activity that was the Winterfell courtyard from his vantage point on the balcony. As was commonplace, he had a scowl across his face as took stock of the situation he was in. His stern demeanour was a direct result of some of the people that took shelter in his new base. It had been a great military achievement to win the castle against such a fierce Bolton stranglehold but he was worried that it had come at a cost. His eyes focused on Jaime Lannister walking through the yard, dressed in a wool cloak he had discovered in an abandoned room. He was discussing something with the swellsword who appeared to be his closest friend, or at least ally. Stannis hadn’t yet bothered to learn his name. All he cared about was that a Lannister was in his midst, in his camp. Jaime had obviously reassured him of his lack of allegiance with his family but words were a cheap commodity, especially when being given by a lion. Only time would tell if he spoke something close to the truth and Stannis was waiting to see whether his actions matched his promises. 

   Despite those worries, it had been a relatively smooth transition into Winterfell. The camps outside the castle grounds, where traders and families would once frequent when harsh winters were on their way, provided plenty of room for his men, as well as the wildling population. He was surprised at how harmonious the mixing of the two groups of people had been; after fighting side by side, they must have found it easier to get along and put up with one another. There were still the occasional brawls, often between drunken men wanting to show off like alpha males in a pack of wild animals. There was a time when he would have let such fights take their course, allowing one man to slay the other. He would have seen it as a way of removing one small slice of ill discipline. But now, when he caught wind of something happening, he would quickly send a few men over to stop it before it got out of hand. He knew that they needed as many men alive as possible to face what approached them.

   He heard footsteps on the wooden stairs nearest him and turned his head in the direction of the noise. Mance Rayder, closely followed by Melisandre, was walking up them. They bore both equally grim expressions, which didn't improve his mood at the slightest. Mance looked ragged, his hair a lot longer than it had been when they first met. Melisandre however, managed to still look refined in her red dress, its opening at the chest accentuated by the necklace she always wore. He had once asked her where it had come from but she had quickly changed the subject; since then, it had always peaked his interest. She had a forlorn expression on her face, telling him he was about to receive some bad news.

   “What is it?” His brusk question was directed at the red haired woman but it was Mance who answered.

   “There’s been some developments to the north and south of us. We received letters by raven this morning. The Night’s Watch say they’re growing concerned about the Wall, claim that cracks are beginning to show. They fear that it’s only time before it weakens so much that it’ll collapse. They write ahead of their arrival here. Thorne has seen fit for them to leave their posts and set up a better defence here.”

   “Fucking cowards, the lot of them. And it means more men here to control, feed and provide shelter for. We’re already stretching supplies.”

   “You forget that a lot of the people who will come are Wildling women and children. They need protecting more so, if they are correct in their concerns, then their decision should be the right one.”

   “I understand that you worry for your people but this is war. A war like no other, I’m told, so the expectation of tragedy has been increased in its likelihood. Spending time mulling over the safety of people who can’t hold a sword and offer some sort of beneficial addition to our number is frankly a waste of time.”

   “I hope you change your mindset by the time that they get here. Or you can explain to them why they have to face such a threat on their own.” Mance stormed off as he finished his sentence. During their frequent discussions, they often butted heads over differing opinions but they always managed to find a compromise eventually. Stannis wouldn’t turn them away right away, he just needed Mance to realise that his perfect ideals of cooperation between their two peoples didn't fit properly in the scenario they were in.

   He glanced at the woman that remained with him on the balcony. “If the warning is true, Snow’s mission is even more important. And he has less time to complete it.”

   “That was the other letter that arrived this morning, from the Stark boy.”

   “More bad news, I’m guessing. Did they crash their ship into a bunch of rocks?”

   “It was actually a positive report. He writes that the Targaryen girl was quick to agree to give us the dragonglass. And that she will fight beside us with her own men in the Great War.” That was a surprise to Stannis and it visibly showed on his face. It was almost too easy.

   “Why would she agree though? She doesn’t have anything to gain from this. She’ll lose men if she fights with us, and a lot of them.”

   “She is not so naive. She will know that her reputation will be enhanced if she is on the winning side against death. And she will have access to a larger sum of men after this war.”

   “They are my men.”

   “Be that as it may, by agreeing this alliance, you both share each other’s resources. They will be her men as much as they are yours. Giving you a better chance of winning the throne you both desire.”

   “If we survive this ordeal. And your gods...what do they say about all this?”

   “There whispers seem to be getting louder in the flames. The Prince that was Promised is still you - it is your destiny to fight against and defeat the encroaching darkness. But now other factors are entering the mix and other forces are at play, with their own destinies. The girl born in flames who brings with her Winter.”

**********

   The council room of Dragonstone was full with people as Bruda ambled over to the corner of the room. A large map of Westeros acted as the centrepiece of the place, a table used by the Lords of the castle before them to strategise their next steps. That was what they were doing now. Bruda watched the sea churn below them, the large opening where a wall should be letting the salty air swirl around them. Daenerys was at the head of the table, her hands placed palm down on it. She was in a deep discussion with Jorah about something Bruda couldn’t hear. Tyrion would occasionally add his own inputs into their conversation but mainly listened to what they were saying. Varys, just like the spider he was, kept to the shadows in the room, observing the people in the room. When his eyes settled on the warlock, he was sent a wink, acknowledging how Bruda was observing him just as closely. Jon and Davos were keeping to themselves by the right hand side of the map, waiting for Daenerys to start the discussion. Selmy stood by the door, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as always. If you didn't look properly, you might be wont to think he was a statue he was that still. A perfect guard. Even Daario was there, which surprised the old man. He had barely stepped foot in the castle since their arrival, meaning that whatever Daenerys had to say involved him somehow. 

   “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” she said to the group, looking at each individual. Bruda didn't understand why she gazed at him for a longer time than the others, or why her look was so questioning towards him. “I just wanted you all here so we could discuss how we set out the next phase of our plans.”

   Jon stepped forward, closer to the table, and pointed at a group of wooden coins on the map. “Stannis is managing to maintain his force at Winterfell for the time being. The only issue is the Night’s Watch.” He moved his hand to another set of tokens further up on the table. “I received a letter back from Mance - he says that they’re leaving the Wall.”

   Tyrion looked confused at that. “The men of the Night’s Watch swear an oath to stand guard there no matter what’s happening. How can they just leave?”

   “The Wall is crumbling. Communication from the East Watch has been nonexistent for the past three days and they’re not risking sending any of their men over there to scout the area. They feel that they can form a better defence with us at Winterfell.” Daenerys again locked eyes with Bruda - it was as he said, everyone slowly being dragged to that castle. 

   “Well at least that means we only have to send the dragonglass to one place. How is the excavation process going?”

   “Smoothly, so far, my Queen,” Jorah answered. “Me and Bruda have been taking shifts down by the caves as the men work. It’s difficult work getting past the first layer of rock but they’re making good progress. We’ve already started loading the ships, they should be ready to sail ahead of us no more than a couple of days.”

   “Good, good. Daario, I invited you up here to make sure our ships are up for the journey to Westeros. Being weighed down by what has been mined, I was wondering whether it might affect their durability.”

   “There are no worries...my Queen.” Bruda noticed the slight hesitation. “We have enough ships to spread the load out. They’ll cope quite easily.”

   “Won’t we be losing a lot of men travelling with these ships, leaving us unprotected?” Davos asked the collection of people.

   “The threat of an attack is unlikely right now, which is why we’re taking this risk,” Tyrion responded. “King’s Landing is in a state of disarray at the moment as they prepare for the execution of my sister. They have no way of knowing that we’re here either and any focus they have on starting a war will be directed at Winterfell for the time being.”

   “We’re travelling separately to the larger fleet so we don’t attract too much attention,” Daenerys continued. “The longer they don’t know that I’m here, the better. We’re leaving ourselves at the mercy of those usurpers whilst we fight another enemy. Every precaution is being taken to minimise their threat.”

She turned to the warlock who had been watching the conversation intently. “Anything you’d like to add?”

   Again, he was surprised at the frostiness in her voice. He’d have to have a word with her at some point in the future to see what was concerning her. “Just a reminder that we have four dragons to watch over during this journey. If we are to be noticed, it will be because of them. Maybe it would be easier if Archmaester Marwyn went ahead with the initial ships to Winterfell with the smallest dragon. It’s a liability in this situation and a distraction we don’t need. And it’s currently small enough to travel on the ship, and not have to fly above it. By the time we leave, that might not be the case, giving us something else to worry about.”

   “I’m sure he’ll comply. Would you have a word with him Jon, seeing as he came with your friend?” Daenerys asked the Stark boy.

   “Of course, my Queen.” Daenerys raised her eyebrows slightly at his words. It had been a few days since they had arrived at Dragonstone and that was the first time he had addressed her in such a way. It was certainly progress and would help her in dealing with the Baratheon ruler.

   “Then that is all we have to discuss for now.” Everyone began to shuffle out of the room one by one. Daenerys stayed at the head of the table, watching them as they left. She didn't fail to notice Bruda pulling Daario aside before he went through the door and the two of them having a whispered conversation. She needed to get her thoughts off her chest.

**********

   As the gentle breeze swept her blonde hair, Daenerys made her way onto the beach at the foot of Dragonstone. She was dressed in a fine leather outfit that kept her warm despite the surrounding cold. She gently stroked the white dragon clasp that kept her cloak attached to the rest of her clothes. She watched as men, both hers and those brought by Stannis’s advisors, carried and moved pieces of dragonglass of varying sizes from the cave system and onto the waiting ships in the bay. She was pleased to see a quiet efficiency going on, since she wanted the process to happen as fast as possible. She wanted to be able to get to Winterfell soon. Her eyes soon drifted to a person standing off to one side from the busy activity; her target. 

   Bruda knew she was approaching before she got to him. He had been expecting her to want to talk to him after the way she had acted around him before. He guessed Jorah had told her where he would be since he was weak-willed when it came to her. He smiled at her as she sidled up next to him but only received a small one in return. He didn't know why her demeanour towards him had changed so suddenly but he wanted to rectify the issue.

   “A pleasure to see you as always Daenerys.” They both stood watching the excavation happen.

   “I came down to see how the process was going,” she responded. No exchange of pleasantries, he noted.

   “It’s going as smooth as we’d hoped. There’s just a lot in there and we may as well get all of it out. Better safe than sorry, if you ask me.” This time she didn't respond, prompting him to stroke his beard in a tired fashion. “Have I done something wrong?” She looked at him when asked the question, her eyes appearing to search his for answers he didn't know yet. “I know you didn't come all the way down here just to see how this work is proceeding.”

   She didn't know what words to use. He had been by her side for so long now but her concerns had grown too much recently. She didn't know whether it was because she was so close to what she had dreamt about now or because she was about to face an enemy more powerful than she had ever witnessed. Bruda just seemed to know too much for her liking. 

   “What do you know, Bruda?” came the reply at last. It took a lot of effort for her to let the words escape her mouth.

   “Know about what? I know about lots of things, which is why you keep me around.”

   “It’s just...the way you speak sometimes. Like you know what’s going to happen with this war. It’s unsettling me. You can’t possibly know but you say that something will happen at Winterfell.”

   “I don’t know what will happen in the coming months. I don’t know whether we will win or lose the battle. I can’t see into the future, if that’s what you want to know.”

   “So how can you be so sure about Winterfell?” She wanted to believe him so much but something wasn’t right about him and the war to come.

   “It’s just that gut feeling I have. Like when I chose to join you in your mission. Do you know the Stark words?”

   “I think you’ve said them before now.” She was confused at his sudden change in topic.

   “That’s all I know for sure is the truth. Winter is coming. I’m just hoping that people find out what that really means before the end.”

   “Tell me. What does it mean?” He looked at her as if he wanted to say something more but he stopped himself to her annoyance.

   “I can’t tell you. The time isn’t right. All I’ll say for now is that names are interesting things. If we look deep enough, they can reveal the truth about a person. I hope you remember that because it will make it easier for you in the future to accept what is to come.” She hated when he spoke in riddles, which he so often did. Although she did enjoy the glint in his eye when he spoke that way; it seemed to make him look younger. She realised that she would get no more out of him on that topic but she had plenty to think about now.

   “I saw you talking to Daario before, in the council room.” Another mystery she wanted to solve.

   “I thought you would. You never miss a thing, do you?” She noted the warm praise in his voice, as if he was a father talking to his daughter. She’d never experienced that.

   “What were you talking about?” He’d never freely give her answers unless she asked the questions.

   “I was just taking a precaution. I’m hoping it won’t be needed but it’s better to have it there. And before you ask, I’m not telling you what it is because you’ll worry when you have too much to think about as it is. It’s my job to take on your safety.” Surprising herself, she accepted his response without question. She gave him a small nod as they looked back out to sea. He looked at her once again, the lines in his face more apparent than usual as he thought back on all the queries she had. He didn't want to think about what he would have to do. 

   “I should be going. Jorah will wonder why I’ve been with you for so long.”

   “Tell him I’ve simply been ravishing you right here on the beach. And then quickly detail to me his expression.” She lightly hit his shoulder in rebuttal. He saw a small smile that lit up her face and soon he allowed one to grace his features as well. She began to walk off but he grabbed her softly by the arm to stop her. “I hope you realise that I would never do anything to hurt you Daenerys. Do you still trust me? Because otherwise, you should let me leave now.”

   She looked him in the eyes intently for a moment and, despite all the concerns she had, she just knew he was invaluable to her. If he did know things, then she presumed it would help her in the future. And, in that moment, looking at the old man in front of her, she realised that she still trusted him.

**********

   Tommen, wearing the gold crown of the King of Westeros, sat at the head of the council table. On his right, sat his true love and queen, Margaery, resplendent in a dark green dress. On his left sat his hand, his uncle Kevan, who had been a valuable advisor due to his experience working with Tywin Lannister. Next Margaery was her grandmother Olenna, who often sat on his council to give an insight into her politically keen eye. Opposite her was the High Septon, who, even when visiting the palace, still wore his grey rags. The furthest away from his was Grandmaester Pycelle, who often rambled on end in these sorts of meetings, always wanting to convince the king to take a calmer approach, much to the anger of the members of the council. Tommen noted how small his council actually was in comparison to what his father had but he didn't worry about it. He had enough to rule adequately and a smaller group meant there was little chance of betrayal. In that regard, he was thankful that the likes of Varys the Spider and Petyr Baelish had left the capital, both disappearing as if they were made of smoke and nothing else. Yet that probably meant they were whispering in the ears of his enemies, which angered him greatly. It was if they were insulting him with their mere existence.

   They had been sitting at the table for a while now, discussing small matters, the finer details of running the kingdom on a day to day basis. What Tommen wanted to get to was the more interesting decisions he had to make and the fact that he had been instructed by his uncle Kevan to call the council had got his hopes up that that would be the case today. Ever since he had convicted his mother, he had felt himself grow into his position of high power and he thoroughly enjoyed it. He was no longer the little boy that had been in the shadows all his life, the toy to be beaten up by his brother, the puppet to be played by his mother. The thought made him speak up.

   “What is the situation with my mother? It has been a few days since her trial.” He was impatient to see her godforsaken soul leave this existence.

   “Her execution is due to take place the morning after next,” the High Septon answered him. “It will take place on the steps of the Great Sept to show the people that Crown and Faith are together as one to bring in the new regime.” Tommen nodded his head, knowing he could wait that long to see it happen.

   “There is grave news though, your Grace,” Kevan Lannister said. He was always the bearer of bad news. “As you know, Stannis Baratheon captured Winterfell from Roose Bolton, a close ally to our family. With him in place, we needn’t worry about the North but now...it is uncertain.”

   “Then we should send our finest men to root those poisonous weeds and make them an example to everyone about what happens to those who challenge me,” came the quick reply.

   “It isn’t that simple. Because there is something else. Pycelle received a letter this morning from someone at Dragonstone. Daenerys Targaryen now sits there and we presume her intentions are to take the throne.” Tommen’s hands clenched the table, his knuckles turning white.

   “Two challengers to my power. Surely we have enough men to split them in half and easily plough through these two.”

   “Not at the moment. The Targaryen girl is said to have amassed an army the size we have rarely seen, supported by the Golden Company. And Stannis has made sure the Bolton men that survived became a part of his army, boosting his numbers. If we are to take them on, you would have to choose one to target first. But that isn’t the worst part. The letter claims that they have agreed an alliance, saying that they plan to work together to take the capital from you.”

   “Which means it is of paramount importance that you choose one of them to target and take the action necessary soon,” Olenna inputted.

   “Who should I pick?”

   “The peculiar thing with Stannis,” Kevan answered, “ is that, although he has amassed an army at Winterfell, he has made no move to turn his attentions south for the time being. He probably took a heavy hit during the battle so is unable to properly attack us right now.”

   “So the Targaryen girl it is. We’ll need more men though, I presume.”

   “Exactly.” This time it was Margaery who spoke. “Which is why House Tyrell will send a third of our men.” Tommen stroked her hand in a thankful gesture.

   “You are correct,” his uncle continued. “When we received the letter, we sent out discreet notices to our allies. They were quick to reply. House Frey, who have turned away from the Starks, who line themselves with the Targaryen girl it seems, have committed to sending men, as have the Tarlys. Ser Randall has even said he will lead his men, which is a great honour and a sign of his commitment.”

   “We were stuck however with how we would get this number of men to Dragonstone since we don’t have many ships of our own,” Olenna continued. “But we have been given a proposition by Euron Greyjoy, who recently was named leader of the Iron Islands. He claims that his niece and nephew betrayed him and have sided with Stannis and so he wants to align himself with us so he can enact his revenge.”

   “Which gives us the ships we need,” Tommen finished, as if he had come up with all by himself. He enjoyed how it had come together so easily. 

   “We just need your approval and then this can all take place, and you will be down one enemy.” His Hand already knew what the answer would be though.

   “Send the word. I want it done as soon as possible. I want them to arrive at Dragonstone and to leave without a single brick left standing. House Targaryen will be no more.”

   At the end of the able, Pycelle, who hadn’t said anything during the meeting when it had taken its dramatic turn, messed with his hands in panic. This wasn’t the way forward and it would eventually leave the Realm in ruins. He needed to write a letter.


	21. Anger and Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Night's Watch bring with them a high dose of tension, whilst Cersei makes sense of her situation

They once again found themselves standing on the beach, something that had become a frequent action since their arrival at Dragonstone. They were watching as the ships, now fully loaded with dragonglass, were prepared for their voyage. Soldiers, a mix of Unsullied, Dothraki and Westerosi, were marching onto them. That was the part that worried Bruda. As he watched them board, he realised that the majority of their army was leaving them for the time being. With the threat of an attack minimal, Daenerys had agreed it was in their best interest to get her men on Westerosi shores as quickly as possible and so they were leaving with the bulk of their fleet. But that left them incredibly vulnerable and the warlock wasn’t too sure their safety was fully secured. He had voiced his concerns to Daenerys at length the previous evening but, although she had understood where his worries were coming from, the Targaryen remained resolute in her decision. He hoped it wasn’t a costly mistake for them all.

   The woman in question was stood by his side, with Jorah by her other shoulder. Her face showed a mixture of emotions, encapsulating the feelings within her. Happiness because this was finally happening, her first move in taking Westeros. Yet there was also trepidation, Bruda’s words ringing inside her head of the troubles that would await them across the sea.

   “The first Dothraki to set foot in Westeros,” she murmured to the two of them. Her voice didn't carry the happiness she should have had at such a thought. Jorah looked at her in concern.

   “All because of you, Khaleesi,” came his words. “They’ll soon have songs for you, which will fill the air for years to come.”

   “If they survive the hardships I have brought down on them.” 

   “They understand the risks they are taking. They do so because they believe in you. You cannot blame them for that. They saw a girl enter a fire and emerge unharmed followed by three dragons. They would walk to the ends of the globe for you, and have according to their previous customs. You know as much as I do of how they were once wary of crossing the sea but you allowed them to conquer that fear. You inspire hope in them, as you do me.” She smiled at him as he finished, his words going a long way to soothe her restless mind.

   “They’ll get to Winterfell in perfect condition,” Bruda said. “Well, I know some of them are still prone to a bit of sickness on the waves but that should be it. Right now you should be seeing them off as the strong ruler they see you as. The strong ruler that you are. She nodded her head and walked over to the shore, where the bulk of the Dothraki were waiting to get on small rowing boats that would take them to the main ships She spoke in their tongue as she raised her voice.

   “My men, listen to your Khaleesi.” Her voice carried a long way, making the others on the beach stop what they were doing. Jon observed her intently as she her addressed her army. “Today is a big day! Today marks the point when the Dothraki begin their conquest! You board these ships, not just as my men, but as my disciples. You will learn to show the kingdom of Westeros why your reputation precedes you. The people that come after you will speak your names as legends!” Her words were matched by roars from the Dothraki horde and, when she finished, they began taking their places with renewed vigour, as if each one wanted to be the first onto the ships. 

   Bruda leaned closer to Jorah and nudged him with his arm. “She’s good, ain’t she?” Jorah could only grin at her as she walked with her people.

   Further down the beach, Sam and Jon were stood together as the former said his farewells to the archmaester. When Marwyn had been told it was best that he left Dragonstone with the majority of the ships, he had been surprisingly positive. He claimed that the sea air didn't suit him and the sound of waves crashing near his window at night often prevented him from sleeping properly. He was ready to get into one of the rowing boats filled with Baratheon soldiers, Hidebyo keeping close to him. The dragon was now half the size of the maester, which had surprised even Daenerys. He was definitely growing at a faster rate than was normal. Marwyn said he would look into it when they arrived at Winterfell.

   Sam gently placed his right hand on the snout of the burnt orange and black creature, stroking it with care. Hidebyo appeared to nuzzle his face into the touch before he began nibbling at the fingers, much to the consternation of Sam. Marwyn let out a short laugh at the interaction.

   “Take care of him for me, won’t you?” Samwell asked the older man.

   “I don’t have much choice!” the maester exclaimed, his tone lighter than the Tarly boy had ever heard it. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve read practically all the manuscripts written discussing dragons and how they were raised back when they were commonplace. I just hope the people at Winterfell aren’t too wary of him.”

   “Are you alright with travelling with our men to Winterfell?” Jon asked him. “You wouldn’t want to head back to the Citadel whilst you can. We wouldn’t think less of you.”

   “Oh, boy. My life’s work has contributed to many discoveries back in Old Town but I would never be able to live with myself if I stopped myself from helping in anyway that I can. Knowledge is all we have against the dead and frankly, I’m the one who has to provide it.”

   “You’re a noble person, archmaester.”

   “My concerns, unlike yours Snow, are not to do with nobility.” With that, and a final wave, Marwyn clambered into the small boat, Hidebyo settling in his lap and letting a small puff of smoke escape from his nostrils. 

   Jon and Sam walked over to where the others stood, watching the ships finally set sail. They stood in silence, the only noise being the gentle roll of the waves on the sand and the distant roars of dragons, before the fleet disappeared over the horizon. 

**********

   A horn bellowed over the sound of activity around Winterfell, announcing that a large party of people were approaching the castle gates. Stannis looked up from the desk he was sat at as heard the noise and immediately stood up. As he reached the outside, cold air biting at his face, he saw many of his men curiously heading towards the gate to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals. Stannis made his way down the steps into the main courtyard, Melisandre appearing from nowhere to fall into step with him. He barked a command to the men operating the gate and it was quickly opened, the large doors creaking as they swung inwards.

   Alliser Thorne led the group of people, one of the few lucky enough to be riding on horseback. Most of the people were walking and looked beyond exhausted. Within that section was the Hound, who had opted to give his horse to a mother and child. Not that he had wanted to; Beric Dondarrion, who was slowly walking beside him, had strongly suggested that it would be the right thing to do. Sandor had been too tired to argue and had quickly disregarded the heartfelt thanks he had received from the wildlings. 

   Stannis carried on in his way to the front of the crowd to greet what remained of the Night’s Watch. He tried to ignore the look of disdain he got from the Lord Commander. 

   “It appears you have arrived in one piece after your long journey, Commander,” Stannis said loudly. Thorne grunted in response.

   “We lost a few on the way here. But only the weakest people, who were slowing us down as it is.” Most of the wildlings sent dark glares his way as he spoke and Thorne either failed to notice, or chose not to give them the time of day. Stannis didn't like how frosty the atmosphere had become.

   “Could you not have spent time resting more?”

   “You wouldn’t stop to rest if you knew what was coming behind you. The amount of time I did allow for them to sleep could have easily seen us killed.”

   “From your letter, it appears that you haven’t had to face this enemy yet, even though I thought that was part of your job and commitment to the Night’s Watch. Just think, the first Lord Commander to disband the Watch. And they’ll wonder why you did it in years to come. Because you were afraid of the cracks in the Wall.” Thorne practically leapt off his horse and walked briskly towards Stannis, anger burning in his eyes. He stopped just short of the Baratheon ruler, his eyes noticing a few of his soldiers place their hands on their swords in a warning.

   “I took that choice so that we could fight them in a tactically better base. You’ve committed to this fight just as much as I have. You need us here by your side or you will be crushed by the cold hands of death before you can blink. Question my honour again and I might be the one to bring down its hand sooner than you expected.” Before Stannis could respond, a door slammed open, Mance and Tormund marching out. The leader of the wildlings had fury written all over his face. He looked towards his own people, most of them leaning on walls or slowly bringing themselves to the floor. Women, children, elderly. They all looked within an inch of their lives. He turned his gaze towards Thorne and the horse that was stood close behind him. He marched up to him, his face centimetres from the Commander’s.

   “That’s a nice horse you have there,” he began, some spittle coming out of his mouth and landing on Thorne’s face. “Why is it that you gave yourself one, and my people had to walk?”

   “There were a limited number of horses. And the Free Folk are accustomed to using their feet, whereas we discovered transportation a long time ago. You know we have something called the wheel now?” Thorne had a smug smile on his face as he spoke.

   “You call yourself a commander...look at you. A fuckin’ coward whose father never taught him about respect. If you had walked such a journey, you would have been food for the animals after three days. Look at my people. They survive. You won’t for much longer.”

   “I treated  _ your people  _ with the respect they deserve. A bunch of savages. I’m surprised that they could understand the instructions I gave them.”

   “They’d understand the instruction of killing you if I fuckin’ said it right now. Keep pushing your luck and see if I’m a liar.” Stannis knew he had to interrupt the argument before the threats became carried out. The wildling men who had already been at Winterfell were sizing the Night’s Watch up; the last thing they needed was casualties.

   “Rayder, nothing will benefit from Thorne’s head on a spike. The enemy we face will kill us all, no matter which side we were originally on. So refrain from these types of comments until the war is won. Then you can have at him.” Mance reluctantly nodded before turning and storming off. Tormund snarled at Thorne, whilst slowly dragging a finger over the blade of his axe. Stannis turned his ire on the commander.

   “And Thorne, speak to me like that again and I will make sure these people know which room you are sleeping in.” With that, the confrontation was over and the crowd slowly began to disperse. Thorne led his men to the camps outside the ground, whilst the newly arrived wildlings went over to the rest of their people, where they were giving food and places to rest.

   Brienne had been watching the whole scene unfold from a distance. When Sandor walked past her, she noticed how he gave her a wide eyed look in recognition. She expected him to step closer to her or say something derogatory. She was giving him a similar look, since she was surprised he was still alive after their sword fight. Yet he said nothing, as if he was embarrassed about the whole situation that had happened. She turned away from his gaze but then felt a hand grasp her arm. She was glad to find that it wasn’t the Hound who had her, but Jaime.

**********

   Jaime Lannister forced her towards a deserted corner in the courtyard, which was a rare thing to find amongst the busy activity of Winterfell. Brienne was confused as to why he had grabbed her so suddenly but the grave look he gave her had silenced any questions she had. The spot he directed her towards was already occupied by another man. Bronn had been instructed to wait there by Jaime a few minutes before and, for once, had done what he was told. He was leant against the wall when they approached, picking his nails with a small dagger. He looked up at their arrival, sharing a confused look with the blonde haired woman.  _ At least he has as much a clue about what is happening as I,  _ she thought to herself, somewhat thankful at the small blessing. They stood there looking at the former lion, Brienne wearing a wide eyed expression. She had never seen him act so cagey. He was a different person to the one who had saved her all those years ago. Yet she hoped he had changed for the better. 

   “Do you know the Hound? Sandor Clegane?” he asked her. The innocuous question startled her and she couldn’t form a response for a few seconds. Bronn was giving him the same incredulous look.

   “What? That’s why you brought me here like that?” She was dumbstruck at his strange behaviour.

   “No...no. I was just curious. I’ve never seen him look at someone like that.”

   “If you must know...we fought. A while ago now. I thought I’d left him for dead.” Bronn let rip a bark of laughter.

   “You fucking beat him in a sword fight?! Brilliant! I bet he loved that.” Brienne wasn’t concentrating on the swellsword’s words, instead looking at Jaime’s expression. He seemed to be measuring her up but now in a different light.

   “I knew you were good with a sword but...wow.” They stared at each other for a moment before Bronn interrupted them.

   “Enough about that, even if I wish you could tell me the whole story in full detail. What’s this secret meeting about? ‘Cos I hope for your safety that it’s not just about the fuckin’ Hound.” Jaime’s look darkened once again.

   “I was given some news. Quite a lot of news actually. It seems I was right to leave King’s Landing when I did.”

   “Jaime, what’s going on?” Brienne asked him, a slight tremble in her voice.

   “Tommen has formed an alliance with the High Septon and the Faith. Cersei was put on trial a few days ago and it went as well as you can expect. She’s due for execution tomorrow.”

   “And I thought the story I just heard would be the best thing I found out today,” Bronn quipped but he shut his mouth promptly when he received a dangerous look from Jaime.

   “It’s not a good thing. Cersei was becoming a tyrant when I left her. Power hungry and manipulative. But she was careful. Never took risks when she didn't have to.”

   “What does this have to do with us right now?” Brienne questioned him.

   “I’m getting to that,” he replied testily. “Those qualities meant that we could predict to a certain extent what her future actions would be. How she would react to, say I don’t know, a contender to the throne amassing an army at the strong point of the North. Tommen is now an unpredictable opponent, especially when he’s supported by the people I’m told sit on his council.”

   “Which means we may have to face an attack from the North and South at the same time,” Bronn suggested.

   “I thought that at first, yes. But consider this. What if Tommen, presumably fuelled by the adrenaline of removing the mother he hates from the Red Keep, discovers how a new opponent has finally reached Westeros.”

   “Dragonstone,” Brienne whispered. Her face had gone ashen.

   “Exactly. According to the person who sent me this information, he was easily persuaded to target there first, which means we’re safe for now at least.”

   “But our newly forged ally is under threat and they won’t have any knowledge about this possibility happening.”

   “From what I’ve heard, they’ve got plenty of ships to protect themselves,” Bronn pointed out to the two of them.”

   “Not enough to take on the Crown, seeing as they’re calling all of their own allies to fight with them.”

   “Well, we have to tell someone. Stannis. We have to do something, otherwise we don’t stand a chance of winning this war.”

   “I’m planning on discussing this with him right away, even though I’m not exactly his favourite person. But we’re already up against it. They’ll have started preparing this straight away.”

   “Meaning their fleet might have already set sail,” Brienne concluded. “We don’t have any ships. We can’t get to them, even if we wanted to.”

   “That’s where you’re wrong.” For the first time, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he spoke. “I think we need to go have a word with the Greyjoy girl.” Their eyes lit up as they realised what he was suggesting.

   “Jaime, who is the person who has been sending you all this information. It might be purposefully wrong so you direct your efforts in saving the wrong group of people. You might set off east and we’re the ones who get ambushed.” Brienne’s concerns were definitely not unfounded.

   “For some reason, I trust this person. The loyalties he had have vanished in front of him since I left.”

   “Why does he want to help you?”

   “Because he thinks that, for the first time in my life, I will choose to do the right thing.”

**********

      The light blinded her as she was led outside the Great Sept of Baelor, her arms held tightly by members of the Kingsguard, fully covered in their armour. Whilst the sun was the first thing her senses took note of, she was then drowned by a loud chorus of boos and jeers from the eagerly awaiting crowd surrounding the entrance. The people who should be up on the platform ahead of her, suffering as she was. They deserved all this, not her. Cersei scanned the crowd and saw faces of anger, rage, disgust and hatred. As she was forced through the crowd to get to where her fate would be sealed, the citizens of King’s Landing clawed at her, grabbed at her, all trying to show their spite towards her. One dirty looking man spat in her face as she walked past him. She didn't give him the satisfaction of letting him see her wipe the spittle off.

She turned her head to look at the people who would share the stage with her as she slowly walked up the steps. Those who saw it just to kill an innocent woman. The Tyrell women, standing where she had stood all that time ago when Eddard Stark had been executed. That was a strange thought; she had never expected to end up in the same position as he did. The man of honour and loyalty, the victim of this game they all played. She had outmaneuvered him back then but now the Game of Thrones had finally caught up with her.

   By their side was King Tommen. He looked so regal, dressed in fine yellow silk that matched his head of hair. His golden crown glinted in the sunlight, the gods seemingly reaching down to touch their host on Earth. He gave her an impassive stare, as if she were nothing but a traitor, a woman of treason, not his own mother. His own blood. Unlike the execution she had presided over, Pycelle was not present, something that surprised her quite a bit. He was always one to be present at times and moments of great magnitude. Maybe he was hurriedly working away in his office, trying to figure out a way to stop this madness. He would come hobbling in at the last second to prove her innocence. That was it.

   Instead, it was the High Septon who stood there as she was stopped at the edge of dias. He gave her a warm smile, as if to tell her that this was the right thing to happen. The gods wanted it. Maybe he was right. Maybe this had to happen after all she had done. All she wanted now was to see Jaime one last time. But he was gone. Just like her power, her standing, and her dignity. Her voice trembled as she addressed the crowd. She had barely noticed the other onlookers stood in the balconies around the square.

   “I come before you...as the victim of unjust gods.” The crowd roared in displeasure at her opening words. The High Septon looked equally outraged, far gone from his warm demeanour moments ago. “You are blind to what is happening in front of you. You will never see or witness what occurs behind the walls of the Red Keep. The people in front of you only work for themselves. My death will not fix your problems. It will only worsen them.”

   “That is quite enough,” exclaimed the High Septon, an unusual note of fury in his voice. Two guards came forward, pressing down on her shoulders to force her to her knees. “This woman, in the eyes of the gods, is a traitor to the Faith. She has lived and enjoyed a life of sin and nothing else. It has left her empty and the gods are merciful enough to let her free from these painful bonds.

   She has wronged you all and King Tommen was wise enough to see through her ploys all by himself. The gods reward him with this judgement. It marks a new era in this kingdom, where we can live as one. People and nobles, Crown and Faith. The one person who stood in the way of such an idyllic existence is the woman who kneels before you.” More boos and hisses filled the air as his words resonated with the blood hungry crowd. “King Tommen.” The young boy waved to the people, a smug smile on his face as he looked at them. He was playing up to the crowd as Margaery had taught him the night before. He enjoyed the proud smile she gave him as he succeeded in his one job. “The gods still understand that you have a position of power, which was given to you by those very gods. As this is the case, they leave the final decision down to you. They know you will make the right and just decision.” He gave him a meaningful look as he finished.

   In that moment, Cersei heard nothing but silence. All she focused on was her son, the young boy thrust into this position of power through no fault of his own. He looked directly into her eyes and it suddenly all made sense to her. Tommen wasn’t actually going to kill her. That was a ludicrous suggestion if there ever was one. This had all been done to show her how her actions had gone too far. He was the king now and she needed to realise that that meant he had more boundaries. He would no longer be controlled by her and, surprisingly, she was content with that. She would continue to guide him through this perilous job and the kingdom would go about its business in peace. She saw his lips move, telling the crowd that there would be no execution today. The gods had put her through this test but never planned to see her die. She smiled at Tommen, relieved.

   Her mind was still full with those thoughts and fantasies as the large sword came swinging down.


	22. Chaos and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys's plans take a turn for the worse as Jon is made to make a heartbreaking decision

A new dawn had settled upon Dragonstone. It had reached the afternoon and Bruda was becoming restless. Nothing particularly interesting had occurred and his hands itched for some excitement. He had chosen to wander the grounds of the castle, something he had done regularly since their arrival at the fortress. He wondered if he would discover something that would reveal a dark history about Dragonstone. So far, he had found nothing apart from the crazed drawings in one of the cells underneath the settlement, presumably from a long dead prisoner. 

   He was humming to himself whilst he walked down a light corridor, the sun poking through windows high up in the wall. He was ambling along when he heard a commotion around the corner ahead of him, promptly stopping from his musical activity. He gripped his staff tightly as he edged towards where he had heard the sound. Peering round the wall, he was met with the sight of an Unsullied guard crumbling to the ground, a sword piercing his stomach. He was surrounded by three soldiers, clad in dark armour that the warlock didn't realise. The one who had killed the guard pulled his sword slowly out of the dead man, scraping it across the wall in the vain attempt of cleaning it. This wasn’t good. He couldn’t see any other bodies littering the floor but for them to have got this far inside the castle meant that others would surely be dead. 

   Shaking his head at the situation, mentally telling himself to stop what he was about to do, he rounded the corner to face them, his cloak billowing slightly due to the movement. The three of them stopped murmuring to one another to examine the new threat. Bruda could see one grin underneath his helmet, probably assuming they were being given an easy target to slay.

   “I’m really hoping there has been a giant misunderstanding and you just happened to trip into that man you just killed,” he shouted out to them. There was no more than twenty feet between them and, if they were young, they’d probably be upon him rather quickly for his liking. 

   “Yeah, that’s what happened. Now why don’t you hobble away before I have to trip into you too,” returned the assailant in the middle of the trio. Southern accent. That was interesting. Bruda gave a tired laugh as he flexed his fingers around the metal.

   “You probably already realise that I can’t possibly do that. You seem like such fine gentlemen so I apologise profusely for having to kill you.” That wiped the smile ofs their faces. They charged as one, with the middle soldier sprinting ahead slightly. That helped Bruda in that he could focus on him first. As the sword came down, he raised the staff up to meet it, the sound of metal hitting metal ringing out across the corridor. He tried a low attack next but again Bruda parried. He was soon faced with three swords coming at him at once but his staff was long and so, by holding it out horizontally, he was able to hold all of the attacks off. Yet it was taking a lot of effort. He brought it down quickly to put them off balance, taking the opportunity to land a blow across the side of the head of the man to his right. It sent him sprawling across the floor, Bruda seeing him spit blood as he was on his hands and knees. With a wave of his hand, the man was sent flying across the corridor, his body making a sickening crunch as he impacted with the stone wall. That made the other two take pause, frantically looking as their partner lay dead on the floor. They looked back at Bruda, fear in their eyes now.

   “What? Did you expect me to play fair?” They attacked him with renewed vigour for his actions. He had to duck one wild swing but as the arm went over his head, he brought the staff up to the elbow with a high force, causing the soldier to drop his sword. It landed by Bruda’s feet but he didn't have time to pick it up as the middle fighter forced him into a late parry once again. He was stronger than the mage and the sword was getting dangerously close to Bruda’s neck. He sent of spiral of blue energy crashing into one of the high windows, sending shards of glass raining over the floor by their side. The force of it had caused the soldier to step backwards, giving Bruda enough time to wave his hand in the direction of the glass. The shards began to float ominously as he moved his hand around. The attacker’s eyes grew wide and he tried to run away but the warlock shot his arm out, his hand opening, which sent the broken glass flying into his back. He instantly fell to the ground. Bruda had a dangerous look in his eyes.

   The final assailant hesitated in front of the wizard. Energy seemed to crackle around him. He was without a sword, which Bruda didn't like. He kicked the sword towards his final opponent. When he didn't bend down to pick it up, Bruda told him to do so.

   “Look, I’m not going to kill you when you’re defenceless. It’s a matter of honour, I’m sure you’d understand.” This time he did pick up the sword but, as he stood up, Bruda once again gestured with his staff, blue energy circling the man. He floated an inch off the ground, his hands reaching towards his neck as he couldn’t breath. “Why are you here? Who do you fight for?” His voice was loud and authoritative but no answer came. “Fine then. You’ll make do as a message to whoever that may be.” With that, the man disappeared in front of him, a garbled scream following him. Bruda wiped his hands on his cloak but then noticed something outside the broken window. He looked through the hole and his face became ashen. He began running to the throne room, desperately needing to see Daenerys.

***********

   Varys was sat in his room, hunched over his desk as he so often was. There had been a flurry of notes from across the kingdom, ravens constantly pecking at his window to be let in. It unnerved him that his spies’ activity had increased so much since it indicated that the Realm was descending into chaos. And chaos always damaged the Realm. And a damaged Realm meant people would die. 

   The pile of letters sitting on his desk didn't seem to be shrinking. He had been sat there for a few hours, corresponding with his people out there. There was one letter though that stood out. It wasn’t signed off in a way that he recognised instantly, which was the case when he looked at messages from his spies. He took a small dagger and cut through the thin thread that tied the piece of paper before he unravelled it. As he read the words, his hands became numb and he dropped it to the floor. Sweat began to form on the top of his bald head. Always one of such refinement and dignity, Varys forgot all that as he hurried out of his room in search for the Queen.

**********

   Bruda and Varys reached the doors at the same time, coming from opposite directions, but hardly paid any attention to each other as they slammed the doors open to storm into the throne room. The people inside, namely Daenerys, Jorah, Davos and Ser Barristan Selmy, all looked at the two of them quickly in concern. By the looks on the faces, you could tell they already knew something was wrong due to their surprise entrance. Daenerys walked down the steps from the raised dais at the end of the room, rushing to get near Bruda. The warlock looked his age, a couple of scratches on his face and a stance of him bending over in pain showing the discomfort he was in. She stopped next to Jorah as she asked them what was going on and why they had barged into the chamber. 

   “We’re under at…” Bruda began shouting but, before he could finish, a cannonball came crashing through the wall right next to him, sending debris and the two of them flying across the room. The air became filled with dust from the destruction as they raced over to their comrades. Barristan, Davos and Jorah began removing stones and rocks that were piled around their bodies and were relieved to see that they were still breathing. It was the Scot who removed a particularly large piece of rock near Bruda’s head, who coughed and sputtered loudly at the exposure to the dirty air. They were helped to their feet, both of them in a daze.

   “What’s going on?” Daenerys practically screeched. Jorah looked outside through the hole made by the impact and saw the cause. A large armada surrounded the castle, bearing sigils of different houses. From here he couldn’t make them out properly but was sure most of them had the Stag of the Baratheon house.

   “Khaleesi, it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that we get you out of here alive.” He began directing her to the open doors but Bruda stopped them after a couple of steps.

   “No, no,” he choked out. “People...in the castle. Soldiers. I fought three off but there’s bound to be plenty more.” 

   “Then what do we do?” Daenerys asked the group. She tried to ignore the concerned look Jorah was giving her. 

   “Dragons,” the mage whispered, before sending a ball of blue energy careering towards the back wall, creating a large, gaping hole. He staggered after doing it and only remained upright by leaning heavily on his staff. “Daenerys...call Drogon. Or one of the others. Fly away. Get to Winterfell.”

   She stared dumbstruck at the plan. “No! I’ve never flown one of them before. And I’m not leaving all of you!”

   “He’s right, Khaleesi,” Jorah admitted. “If you die, then there’s no hope for any of us. It’s too much of a risk to take you with us through the castle.”

   “Why can’t you get on with me?” Her voice was frantic.

   “If there’s more of us on the back of a dragon,” Selmy began, “then we’re an easier target for the people attacking us. It’d be easier for them to fly with just you on.”

   They heard a roar from close outside and looked over to see a black wing briefly cover the new hole. 

   “I think he agrees with that plan,” Davos said. Jorah had to force Daenerys near the ruin, not looking at her eyes filling with unshed tears. 

   “I can’t leave you,” she whimpered to him.

   “You have to. I’ll see you at Winterfell.”

   “I’ll protect him,” Bruda added. He didn't currently look in any state to do that. Reluctantly, she turned around and hesitantly reached out to the wing. Using uneven scales and horns, she managed to get a solid purchase on it before she began climbing up, making sure not to look down. Not long after, Drogon had lifted off, leaving the four of them alone.

   “We need to head down. As deep into the castle as possible. We can use the more obscure route to the beach,” Bruda suggested.

   “What’s on the beach though?” Davos asked.

   “I made sure to have something in place if an event like this happened. But I fear that that route was the way these soldiers got in.”

   “Meaning we’ll have to fight our way out,” Jorah said, pulling out his longsword from its place on his hip. Selmy did the same and picked up two more, handing them to Davos and Varys. The old man looked at the eunuch.

   “Can you fight?” he asked bluntly. Varys eyed the sword carefully, frowning at the way it moved.

   “I’m going to have to.”

   “I’m not much of a fighter,” Davos said lightly. Bruda walked up to them.

   “Neither am I. At least that means we can’t let each other down.” Davos nodded at the strange attempt at reassurance.

   “What about the others?” Jorah realised. He was met with a grim look from the old warlock.

   “Their rooms are lower down so hopefully we’ll come across them, whether they’re alive or dead. Most of these men will be on those boats, meaning that they won’t have sent many here. That isn’t their goal.” Another cannonball destroyed an unknown section of Dragonstone in the distance. “As you can tell, they just want to destroy this place. So hopefully they won’t focus too much on us when we get outside. When we do, all we can do is pray that my plan works. Although, no doubt they’ll be distracted.”

   “By what?” came the obvious question from Selmy.

   “We just told a fiery woman to climb on top of a dragon and leave. Jorah, you know Daenerys quite well. What are the chances of that happening smoothly?” They shared a knowing smile before they all moved towards the doors to face whatever stood between them.

**********

   Daenerys clung onto the neck of Drogon as they soared through the air together. She held on tightly to two well placed horns on his scaly back but her initial fear had melted quickly into brief euphoria. That was before her eyes focused on the ships below and filled with an unprecedented rage. Rhaegal and Viserion had joined them quickly, sensing the large threat of danger. Feeling the scales on the back of her dragon, she was soon able to guide him to where she wanted. He took a sharp right turn, diving downwards towards the enemy fleet. She had no clue who these ships were fighting for but saw their sails filled with krakens, stags, towers and huntsmen. It was an eclectic mix, something that gravely concerned her. As they got ever closer to their targets, all she could see was fire. She wanted to make that a reality. They were soon atop the ships, cannonballs flying wildly through the air but all three of the dragons were always able to easily glide out of the way of the weapons. 

   “Dracarys.”

**********

   Tyrion and Missandei had been having one of their regular chats when chaos had ensued from outside. They had felt the castle shake as it was bombarded with projectiles and they had quickly stood up from their seats. The dwarf had no idea what was happening so could not reassure his companion. They both shared a look of fear before they edged towards the closed door. Once opened, they were met with an eery quiet that had no place in the distant destruction. Looking at one another once again, they slowly walked into the corridor before turning left. It was a maze this far deep in Dragonstone, which made it hard for them to predict where the others would be. 

   A few minutes had passed before Missandei suddenly stopped Tyrion after they had turned round a right corner. His eyes followed hers to see a soldier in front of them. He had his back to the duo so hadn’t noticed them yet. They had made sure to walk quietly, which had allowed them this opportunity. His eyes turned wide as Missandei edged closer to the armoured man. From somewhere on her person, she produced a small dagger and used it to feintly slit his throat. He instantly crashed to the floor, holding his neck in a desperate and futile attempt to stop the blood from flowing out of him. He was dead within a matter of seconds. Tyrion warily waddled up to her, looking at her in trepidation.

   “Why do you have that?” He wanted to shout but knew that would attract unwanted attention so resorted to an angry whisper. “And where did you learn to do that?”

   “After the incident in the fighting pits, I knew I had to be able to protect myself better. So I started carrying this around with me, just in case. Daenerys actually gave it to me. She was more understanding than you.”

   “I understand! I’m just shocked. Normally, when I’m involved with a woman and a knife, I’m looking straight at the pointy end.” 

   “That can be arranged.” He tried to ignore the threat. Instead he knelt down to examine the body. “Who is he?” He turned the body over slightly, revealing a stag adorned on his breastplate. His hands shook at the development. Missandei saw it too. “Baratheon. So it’s Stannis who is attacking us. I warned my Queen about agreeing so lightly to his terms. She stands in his way.”

   “It’s not Stannis. He wouldn’t ruin his chances in this way. And he’d lose a lot of support, which he can’t afford. Not to mention he has other things to focus on right now. No, I’m saddened to say that this is the work of my nephew.”

**********

   The four of them cautiously walked further down the hallway. Varys and Davos were in the middle of the group, with Barristan at the back, constantly looking over his shoulder, and Jorah and Bruda setting the pace at the front. They hadn’t said a word since they had left the throne room. 

   “You know,” Bruda began, “I’m incredibly old. As are you Selmy. Same with you Jorah, as well as you Ser Davos. Varys...I have no inkling of how old you are.” He didn't pay attention to their collective glares. 

   “Do you have a point to make?” Jorah bit out through gritted teeth. He was too busy worrying about the fate of Daenerys to deal with Bruda’s nonsense.

   “My point is…” He stopped talking as they rounded a corner but continued when they knew the coast was clear. “...We all probably don’t have many years left between us. I’m certainly on my way out, especially in my condition right now. But when you picture dying, what do you see?”

   “I’m at sea. Or on a boat in port, either will do.” Davos answered. “The water will always be my home and, if fate isn’t cruel enough to rid me of a good death, then I shall pass away peacefully, soothed by the gentle rock of the ocean.” Bruda nodded at the heartfelt response.

   “I’ll have a glass of sweet wine in my hand, dressed in fine silk, overlooking a busy street from a balcony somewhere,” came Varys’s answer. 

   “I always said I would die a knight. Sadly, I was stripped of that title so that won’t be a possibility,” Selmy admitted. 

   “Nonsense. Once Daenerys is Queen, she can make you a knight once again. So you can have that respectful death,” Bruda said. He had to give a pointed look to Jorah to make him answer.

   “I always thought I would die somewhere on my own. In a faraway isle, where my past can’t reach me. But now…”

   “You want to die with a certain someone by your side,” Bruda finished for him. “Listen to your answers. What do they all show you? That’s my point. None of you see yourself going down in a fight, so make sure that doesn’t happen today. None of you will die on my watch.”

**********

   Jon swung his sword in a low arc, lacerating his opponent’s midriff. Him and Sam had been ambushed whilst walking along a corridor by a group of five soldiers. It was a god send that Jon had his sword on his person or they’d both be dead. The problem was that Sam didn't have a sword so Jon was having to put his body in front of the Tarly boy, fending off multiple attacks. Two of their enemies had already fallen against Jon’s longsword but it was still taking a gargantuan effort from the Stark bastard to keep going against such a formidable onslaught. 

   He parried one attack, two swords locking together as Jon gritted his teeth to keep pushing back on the ever nearing metal. Sam, realising that he had to actually do something to save his friend, produced one of the dragonglass daggers that he always kept on his person and drove it into the shoulder of the fighter. He yelled out in searing pain, moving away from Jon, which gave him the opportunity to finish the job off. Two more to go.

   Yet, then there wasn’t. The two men, one moment standing in front of them, holding tightly onto their swords, suddenly fell to the ground. As their bodies crumpled to the floor, their absence revealed the cause of their death. Arya stood there holding Needle in her right hand, its thin blade covered in a layer of blood. Jon, not thinking of how she knew to kill someone so effortlessly, just rushed towards her to sweep her up in a hug. Yet they had little time to thank her as they heard approaching footstops, getting closer to them every second.

**********

   Smoke filled the air and flames licked the sky as Daenerys observed the destruction she had caused. The ships, so highly flammable, hadn’t stood a chance against the roaring fire of her dragons. She had seen men helplessly fling themselves into the unforgiving water, taking that as the lesser of the two evils. The three dragons had made short work of a large section of the fleet, which came as no surprise to her. What did was how she revelled in the pain she had caused, seeing all these people who wanted her dead burn to ash in front of her eyes. She wanted to worry about that strange sensation but instead prepared to take another dive towards the sea. Yet, before she did, she stopped herself. Not because of her conscience but because something large was coming over the horizon towards them.

**********

   Jon, Sam and Arya were met with a large group of soldiers, numbering at least 15. They blocked the corridor so they would have to fight their way past them to get to safety. If they turned around, they would risk not only running into the line of fire of the cannons but also exposing themselves more easily to the newest set of attackers. The trio stared them down, waiting for them to make their move. Yet it didn't come. The leader of the group held his right hand up as a signal to not move forward. He brought his hands to his helmet and lifted it off to reveal his face.

   “Father?” Sam whispered, shock turning to despair instantly. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Randyll Tarly stood right in front, an angry expression covering his face. He stepped forwards, his chainmail jingling as he walked.

   “Samwell...what are you doing here?” The usual tone of disappointment he used to address his oldest son was apparent in his tone. 

   “Jon...he’s my friend. From the Night’s Watch. I choose to fight with him.”

   “Come over here and I may be lenient in my punishment.” He gestured to the space by his side. Sam remained where he was, a defiant look in his eyes.

   “You’re fighting for the wrong side. I understand why. You don’t know what’s going on so you’re sticking to the alliances that have served you well over the years.”

   “Are you calling me a fool, boy?”

   “No. Just stubborn.” He gripped a sword he had picked up from a dead soldier tightly as he spoke. That was the final straw for the head of the Tarly family, lifting his hand up once again to start the onslaught. Before they could move though, a line of blue light surged through the corridor. Randyll managed to dive out of the way but the six soldiers directly behind them weren’t as lucky, their bodies instantaneously turning into ash as the energy pierced through them. Everyone looked back at where it had come from to see Bruda leaning on his staff, eyes burning with rage.

   “Get away from them, you fucking bastards.” The corridor turned into a frenzy as people raised their swords to face each other. Jorah was running forward but stopped when he saw Bruda leaning heavily against the wall. When he saw the concerned look, the warlock waved him away. “Just...give me a moment. Used a lot of energy...in a short space of time...and I’m not supposed to do that.” His voice sounded tired despite the wry smile that he gave and Jorah wanted to make sure he was okay but a soldier was soon upon him, dragging him into the fight that had ensued.

   Barristan was taking on two soldiers at a time and, when it looked like they might get the best of him, Varys appeared from his place by the wall to shove his sword through the back of one of them. The shock gave Selmy the chance to finish off the duo. He gave a brief nod to the eunuch in thanks before getting involved in another tussle. Varys was making sure his back was firmly against the wall so that no one could sneak up on him. He was bred to survive.

   Jon was doing his best to keep Randyll away from Sam. He knew that the Tarly patriarch was a much more experienced fighter than his son so would make short work of killing him. Randyll was simply viewing Jon as nothing more than a nuisance and called for another soldier to take over. He only had eyes for Samwell. He was backed up into a corner but remained standing, resolutely holding his sword in both hands, pointing it at his father. Randyll gave an icy laugh before sending a few strikes of his sword. The third swing knocked Sam’s weapon from his hands. Another laugh came at him. 

   “You were never fit to be a Tarly,” he spat out in derision. 

   “You’re wrong father. What I have done today has probably made me as much of a Tarly as I have ever been.” His words did nothing to dissuade the older man who, in one swift movement, drove his sword into Sam’s gut, sending him to the floor. Jon saw it all happen. Anger filled him as he swung viciously with his sword, killing his opponent. He turned to Randyll in rage and they were soon involved in a heated sword fight. Jon’s youth gave him a small advantage as he was able to move faster to dodge blows but Randyll used his experience and strength to make sure Jon never had a clear shot. They locked swords and the Tarly man smirked at Jon. He wanted to entice him into making a mistake. But it was he who had made the mistake, he knew that instantly when he felt a sword go through him. He looked backwards and was met with the cold face of Jorah. It was the last thing he saw before crumbling to the floor. The two of them looked at Sam on the floor, holding his stomach in agony. 

   “Go to him,” Jorah commanded. “I’ll cover you.” Jon practically sprinted to his friend before he took his head in his hands. Sam’s face was worryingly pale.

   “Look at me Sam!” he shouted. “Look at me! It’s going to be okay. We can get you out of here and then patch you up. He probably missed anything important. You’ll be fine.” He didn't know whether he was telling Sam that or himself.

   Meanwhile, Davos was in trouble. After taking out one of the soldiers, two others had targeted him. Not having held a sword a lot of times over his years, he was struggling to fend off both attacks at the same time. His tired bones were beginning to ache and he felt that he was just moments away from misjudging an attack or mistiming a parry. But then Bruda appeared out of nowhere, swinging his staff in a haphazard way. The metal made contact with one of their heads, sending him to the ground. With each swing, Bruda was giving loud grunts, showing how much effort it was taking him to do this. A well timed hit to the shoulder sent the remaining soldier into the path of Davos, who drove his sword down his back. Bruda was looking around and saw that only one more soldier remained. The fighter didn't notice Tyrion and Missandei slowly approaching him but felt a dagger in his left leg as Tyrion shoved it there. Before he could respond, Missandei arced her knife to slit his throat as he turned his head. They had followed the trail of bodies to get there. Silence hung over the corridor now, besides Jon’s constant mutterings. 

   “Jon, we don’t have time for this,” Bruda said. “We can’t take both of them. I’ll leave it up to you to make that decision.” Jon was confused; the warlock’s words made no sense. As far as he knew, only Sam had suffered a serious hit. But then he looked back and saw her body on the floor. Arya was sat against the wall, a pool of blood forming on her midsection. Needle lay broken in half by her side. A dead soldier was face down beside her, indicating that she had been able to take out one of the fighters but it obviously hadn’t been enough. He crawled to her and cradled her body in his hands. Her eyes were barely open. She was in a similar state to Sam.

   “We can take both!” he yelled at the group, ignoring their sad expressions. 

   “He’s right, Jon,” Jorah said, trying to be soothing although he knew it wouldn’t work. “We don’t know how many men are still waiting for us. We need as many hands free as we can get. I’m sorry.”

   “Jon…” A small voice rang through the hallway. Sam was using his last strength to talk to his best friend. Jon moved back to his side after Tyrion took a hold of his sister. “You know what you have to do.”

   “I won’t do it.” 

   “It’s an easy decision to make. You’d want me to do the same if I were in your position.”

   “I don’t want to leave you here when you’re suffering.”

   “I...I can do something about that,” Bruda added solemnly. Jorah looked at him. He had never seemed older than right then. Jon, tears in his eyes, nodded reluctantly.

   “Will you tell Gilly about what happened. She’s alone with Little Sam, I’d hate for her...to worry.” He was losing his strength now. 

   “Of course I will,” Jon promised. They began walking away, Jon picking up Arya as they did so. Jorah and Davos looked back at the warlock who looked forlornly at the dying man.

   “I’ll catch you up. This is my duty now.” He bent down with a slight groan and gave a sad smile to Sam. “You fought well out there. You probably saved one of us.” He didn't really know what to say. It was a long time since he had been forced to do this. His hands shook as he brought them to Sam’s temples but all he could think of was her.  _ Isabella _ . It still pained him now.

   “Thank...you,” Sam whispered. “I think I proved everyone wrong in the end.”

**********

   Less than two dozen of the ships remained. Most of the fleet was slowly sinking to the ocean floor, roaring flames only being extinguished by the icy touch of the water. The men who still survived through luck were trying frantically to turn their ships around in the vain hope of outrunning the dragon. They prayed that, if they were seen to be fleeing, it would take mercy on them. They didn't have to worry about that for long.

   The first cannonball whistled past a mast. The second smashed into the hull. Men were flung into the air as the projectiles hurtled into what had been the armada. Greyjoy ships, in a straight line across the horizon, sailed quickly towards them. Yara and Theon Greyjoy stood at the helm of the ship furthest in front of their fleet as their attack began. Coming from behind, coupled with how the other ships had been facing the castle, gave them a massive advantage in the battle. They were picking off the last survivors that remained after the dragon attack.

   Daenerys, still riding Drogon, watched this happen in fascination. She realised that the new ships must have been sent by Stannis in a last ditch attempt to help her. It strengthened her resolve in that she had made the right decision with regards to their alliance. Yet she wanted to show him that she could have coped on her own. She wanted to illustrate the full power she possessed. She noticed one ship slowly going below the surface of the water and looked at the flag that half hung from the mast. Two towers. She remembered Jorah and Jon discussing the Frey family and how their allegiance wouldn’t be known until the last minute. It was strange to think that they had been wrong about that particular family’s actions. 

   Making her mind up on what to do, and looking back at the castle hoping that Jorah had survived the attack, she began to fly away with her three dragons, intent on finding those two towers.

**********

   They ran onto the beach as they emerged from an iron gate. They had been lucky that only a few other soldiers had been in their way, realising that most of them would have gone to the throne room to take Daenerys. They stopped to look at the destruction and chaos that was occurring on the water. The numerous fires told them that the Dragon Queen had attacked them, proving Bruda right. He and Jorah looked up to the sky and saw the distant silhouettes of the dragons flying off into the distance. They both shared a worried and grave look, not knowing what she would do when she was this angry.

   “You said you had a plan,” Jorah pointed out to the warlock. He nodded and led the group over to an isolated arch around the corner. The alcove, hidden by the large rocks in front of it, was incredibly large but that didn't surprise them as much as the ship sitting on the water inside it. Daario, seeing them approach, barked some orders to the few crewmen that were onboard. 

   “Do you remember me having a word with him? I was worried something like this would happen, especially with Daenerys sending the majority of our ships away. So I told him to keep one hidden away so we could make an escape if necessary.” Jorah wanted to be amazed at his hindsight but caught the eye of Jon, who was fretting over Arya. They quickly boarded the ship before they began to sail away, hesitantly joining the Greyjoy contingent at first. Jon rushed Arya off to a cabin to make her more comfortable and so she could be monitored properly. The group, bloody and tired, stood on the deck, relieved that the nightmare was over. That was until Bruda clutched his chest suddenly before collapsing to the floor, his staff rolling away as his fingers lolled.


	23. Spies and Sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommen is sent a message, whilst Daenerys enacts the first part of her revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! We've surged past the 100,000-word barrier! Why not take this moment to leave a comment? All thoughts are welcome. It was another difficult chapter to write; Game of Thrones has always been a show full of suffering.

  Tommen stormed into the council room, expecting some good news. He wanted to hear about how Daenerys Targaryen’s head had been delivered that morning on a gold plate. He’d mount it high on the Red Keep’s walls to act as a message to anyone who considered supporting someone other than him. Then he’d set in motion plans to rid Westeros of Stannis Baratheon, who would be the only competitor left to the throne. He had been belittled all his life, the forgotten son for so many years until he was suddenly made king. Then people started respecting him, wanting to actually listen to what he had to say now. The same people who had dismissed him so often now bending down in front of him. He wanted to show them that it was his destiny to be king. He wasn’t here just because his brother had died earlier than he should have. He was the king.

   Judging by the sombre atmosphere that had settled over his council, he realised he would not be hearing such joyous news.

   “What happened? Was our mission a success?” he asked the group as a collective. None of them looked willing to speak. Kevan Lannister had his eyes set on the table in front of him, seemingly examining the wood with acute precision. The Tyrell women shared a worried glance between themselves before Margaery stood up and guided Tommen to his seat at the head of the table. The High Septon wasn’t even there.  _ Probably off preaching to another crowd again _ , Tommen thought to himself.  _ He should be prioritising his king, not the commoners _ . The only person in the room who appeared remotely content was Pycelle but Tommen presumed that was just because of some form of  _ medication  _ the Grand Maester had taken beforehand. Eventually, it came to his Hand to break the solemn news to him.

   “We’ve received word that our fleet was completely destroyed upon their arrival at Dragonstone. Only one ship remains. They were able to get away just in time. One of the Greyjoy ships, I believe.”

   “And I assume the men on this ship were the ones who sent you this message?” Tommen inquired.

   “...yes? Why?” Kevan asked hesitantly.

   “All ships sunk to the bottom of the sea apart from one. There’s only one way that can happen and that’s down to them fleeing when they were attacked. I won’t have cowards fighting in my name. When they return, I want them killed on sight.”

   Olenna gave him a wary look. “Do you think that’s necessary, boy? Your army has just been decimated and you want to weaken it further? It doesn’t make good sense to me.” 

   Tommen’s expression grew dark whilst he was questioned. “I find that removing such lack of honour is the opposite of weakness. And it will show the rest of my men how it is expected of them that, when they fight for me, they fight to the death. I expect nothing less.” His lip was curled into a cruel smirk, so reminiscent of his dead brother. “And I am not a boy. I am your King and you will speak to me as so.” Olenna kept her mouth shut, which Tommen took as a small victory. “How much damage did we manage to cause to her numbers though? It must have been fairly considerable.”

   “It seems that the majority of her fleet wasn’t at Dragonstone so little damage was done to her in that regard. The castle itself was mostly ruined by our ships so she will be forced to move.” The oldest Lannister didn't enjoy giving such grim reports.

   “Her ships weren’t there? Then how did we lose?” He shouted the last part, slamming his fist on the table.

   “She...has dragons. They say three. They wiped out the majority of our ships before a rogue contingent of Greyjoy ships, believed to be instructed by the two relatives of Euron Greyjoy that joined with Stannis Baratheon, came from behind and finished the job.”

   “A new set of ships intercepted our attack, which tells me one thing. We made our plans and acted upon them as quickly as we could, yet they managed to reach us. They were informed of our plans. A spy in our midst. I want them found within the week or I’ll randomly pick one of the flea-ridden scum from the streets below and kill them as an example.”

   “Yes, your Grace,” Kevan intoned. Tommen was about to speak again when a brilliant flash of blue light filled the room, prompting them all to stand up. As quickly as it had come, it was gone. In its place was a pile of burnt and smoking bones. They could tell they were human.

   “What just happened?” Margaery was the first to find her voice. None of them knew how the remains had got there.

   “I think the Targaryen has aligned herself with a practitioner of dark magic,” Pycelle reasoned. “This is a warning to us all.” He wanted Tommen to see sense but it was all for nought.

   “It is an act of war. Our best course of action is to start bringing our men and allies together.” he couldn’t look away from the skull facing him. ”You said that Daenerys Targaryen will be on the move. Her only option is to go North and join with the Baratheon camp. I want my army ready to crush them.” As he finished speaking, he stood up from his chair, turned on his heel and was quickly gone from the room. The members of the council eyed one another tiredly and they seemed to let out a collective sigh. This couldn’t be allowed to continue. None of them went near the bones. One of the servants would sort that out.

**********

   Bruda woke with a start, sitting upright in the bed he found himself in. He was in a cabin, on a ship, judging by the way the room was gently swaying. Or was that just him, waking up from his daze. No, no it was definitely to do with the waves. He couldn’t remember much about what had transpired after they had emerged from Dragonstone and definitely didn't know how he had gotten himself here. The most recent memory he had was saying farewell to Samwell. That brought up emotions he didn't need right now. He racked his brain, trying to piece the fragments of his memory back together. Daario had been waiting for them, as he had told him to. They had boarded and then...darkness.  _ Magical exhaustion,  _ he thought bitterly to himself. It was a sign of his age. A few decades ago, he could have taken part in their battles three or four times over before he began feeling his energy drop. He brought a weary hand to his face, slowly dragging it over his rough skin. He probably had one more battle in him and he knew which one that would be.

   He observed the cabin. It was small, simplistic, everything you would expect to get on a ship, he reasoned. Yet there were two commodities that he hadn’t expected to see. Jorah and Davos were asleep in chairs either side of his bed. He examined them for a moment, noticing both had cuts and bruises over their faces and arms. He wondered why they had waited by his bedside. He wondered how long they had been waiting. He was grateful to see that they had cared enough to do so but also felt a sense of guilt over making them worry so much. He decided to put them out of their misery, even though they looked so at peace. He coughed louder than he normally would, smirking at how they shifted at the sound.

   Jorah was the first one to properly wake from his slumber. Although initially bleary eyed, he shot up when he noticed Bruda sat watching them with thinly veiled amusement. It was almost an exact repeat of steps when Davos opened his eyes too. “So you’re alive,” Jorah pointed out, although the warlock could hear the relief in his voice.

   “It appears that way. Although my body is aching quite a bit at the moment.” He lifted his arm and noticed for the first time that he was dressed only in a plain beige shirt. He spotted his cloak draped over the back of a chair by the window. 

   “We were worried about you,” Davos said, his voice grave. 

   “Surely you had more important things to think about.” Bruda was trying to lift the spirits of the room but, when he noticed the glares from the other two men, he dropped his smile. “I had to stretch myself a long way today...it was today, right?” 

   Jorah shook his head. “You’ve been out for a couple of days. We set sail for Westeros straight away. We thought that our best option was to get to Winterfell.” Bruda nodded, taking in this new information.

   “Well, as I was saying. I had to stretch myself during the battle. Each piece of magic I do takes up a part of my energy. That doesn’t impact me on a normal day because I don’t usually need to use my magic. But I’m old now and fighting like that was bound to have an impact on me.”

   “Before the final fight, you told me that you needed to rest,” Jorah reminded him. “What happened to that?” Bruda didn't care for his accusatory tone.

   “Our good friend here Davos was in a spot of bother, so I stepped in to help him.” Davos frowned at him.

   “While I appreciate you saving my life, you shouldn’t have if it put yours at risk. I’m not worth it.”

   “Listen to me, Seaworth. Just because I have these powers doesn’t mean that I’m remotely more important than anyone. I told you that none of you would die on my watch and I’m a man of my word.” That ended the brief debate. Bruda shifted in his bed, groaning as he did so. “So...two days, huh? Any word from Daenerys?”

   Jorah shook his head. “None. We saw her fly off with her dragons heading for Westeros. At least we presume she is. I don’t know what this means.”

   “It means trouble. Hopefully it doesn’t affect our standing with Stannis Baratheon, especially with us heading to his keep earlier than we anticipated. But for the time being, we need to focus on a larger concern.”

   “Another concern? What else could have possibly gone wrong recently?” Davos asked despairingly.

   “Think about it. Those soldiers that got into Dragonstone didn't exactly go through the main entrance. They knew that there was another way to get in, specifically through the door we escaped from.”

   Davos and Jorah shared a look. “So?” the Scot wondered. Maybe Bruda had banged his head when he collapsed.

   “So...use your brains. Dragonstone was home to the Targaryens at first before it was then held by Stannis. Meaning no one else has been there. Yet we were attacked by soldiers sent by the Crown.”

   “Meaning someone must have told them about this weakness beforehand,” Jorah finished. Bruda raised his arms slightly in celebration that they had figured it out.

   “Exactly! Now, there’s the distinct possibility that this could have come from someone in Stannis’s camp but I don’t see the benefit of any of them betraying us. After all, we’re the only thing that’s going to help him survive the wars to come.”

   “You don’t think it’s someone amongst us, do you?” Davos inquired. Bruda nodded his head slowly.

   “We need to be careful from now on. For me, there’s only one candidate. But it’s best if I don’t tell you two at the moment. The last thing we want is for them to grow suspicious.” They both seemed content with that for now. “I say we try and get everyone together and discuss what we do next.” He began getting out of bed but Jorah quickly stopped him. Bruda gave him a perplexed stare.

   “You said it yourself, you used up a lot of your energy the other day. We think it best that you be put on bed rest for the time being. Then, once you’re approximately back to normal, if you ever have been that, we’ll let you out and about and you can go back to terrorising everyone.” Bruda’s glare shifted to Davos. To be fair to him, he made sure to maintain eye contact with the mage.

   “Did you know about this?” Bruda asked him accusingly. 

   “It was mainly my idea.” They both stood up and began walking towards the door. “Look, whoever you think has been sending information to the capital is on this ship. We’re not due to land on Westerosi soil for another few days so we’re all stuck here. That means that this person can’t go anywhere so you can’t do much at the moment. In your state, you’d hardly be able to do anything anyway.” They reached the door and opened it, giving the warlock one last look. They were met with an angry scowl. As they stepped outside, they chose to ignore the sound of a glass being thrown and smashing against the door where they had stood just moments ago.

**********

    Walder Frey sat alone in his large dining room. His aged and withered hand shakily grasped the metal spoon as he brought some of the meaty broth to his lips. Most of it dribbled down his chin as he clumsily fed himself. He didn't care one jolt. This was his time, his favourite time of the day, when he could sit alone and enjoy his meal with nothing but his mind for company. The Twins had been quieter than normal due to the absence of a part of his army. He had only agreed to help the young King because it was surely a definite victory. The size of the fleet that had been sent wouldn’t be matched by anything the Targaryen girl possessed. He smiled to himself. Making the Crown believe his allegiance was theirs when his actions would come at no cost to him. It was the perfect situation to be in, he felt as he sat there smugly. 

   But then he heard a dreaded roar come from the skies above the two towers. Screams and yells touched the dusty air of the room from outside. He dropped his spoon. His hands grasped the arms of the chair he was sitting in and pushed his old body out of it. Unsteadily, he made his way over to the nearest window and he peered out of them. Strange. He could see nothing apart from grey clouds slowly drifting across the sky. Those awful noises he had just heard had disappeared in an instant. Maybe he had been imagining it. His eyes widened as the clouds were parted by a horrendous beast. It seemingly dived towards where he stood, frozen still in fear. His world was soon filled with the orange colour of scalding flames. 

   Drogon and her other two dragons appeared to have known where she wanted to go, even if Daenerys hadn’t known where exactly that was. It had been a long journey to get to the Riverlands and she was becoming sore after sitting on the dragon for so long. Yet she hardly felt that pain, especially when her target had come into view. The anger she had felt at seeing her ancestral home tumble, at knowing her advisors and friends were in mortal danger, rose through her once again when she saw the two towers. As they neared, she had given the simple instruction to her animals to enact the same destruction the people below had seen fit to bestow upon her.

   With each swoop and breath of burning flames, chunks of each stone building were ripped from the walls, tumbling into the wild river that flowed between them. She relished in the screams of her enemies as they tried to escape the clutches of the fire. She knew that there was no escape though. Some of them attempted to fight back. Archers fired arrows at the dragons. Any that reached their required target bounced harmlessly off the hard scales that covered their skin. She didn't know whether those who did this were brave or foolish. They burned all the same.

   It didn't take long before one of the Twins crumbled to the floor, sending a cloud of dust and ash spreading around the surrounding marshes. It didn't stop Drogon from flying through the carnage. The bridge collapsed into the rushing water, sending multiple people sprawling down with it. She looked across and saw Rhaegal and Viserion finishing the job on the remaining castle. Her children doing her bidding. It gave her a sense of power. The people of Westeros would learn to respect such power. For a moment, she wondered if that would be out of fear. She quickly removed these doubts from her mind; the only ones who should fear her would be those who opposed her.

   She shouted an order to the two smaller dragons and they came soaring over to where Drogon hovered in the sky. She could see some people who had somehow managed to survive the chaos and destruction. She’d let them live. They would remember the day they faced the Dragon Queen and how she had shown them mercy in letting them survive. Their stories would spread throughout the kingdom. She wanted people to know that she had returned and how she had come to get back what was rightfully hers. 

   Seeing that her objective had been achieved, she set off on Drogon once again. They would rest somewhere soon, in the hills or mountains somewhere. She’d find a farmer and trade a piece of jewellery for some food. It wouldn’t be luxurious or comfortable but she wouldn’t mind. She was filled with a sense of euphoria, although this was dampened with the thought of Jorah and Bruda, as well as all the others she had left behind. She knew deep down that they would have found a way to survive. That warlock had too many tricks up his sleeve. How she wished she could be sat with him, watching his face light up as he recalled some far fetched story of his. She wanted to be in the company of her Old Bear, his reassuring voice telling her that she had chosen the right path, that she would succeed. She vowed that she would do that once again. But it would be different this time. She had stepped up her involvement in Westeros and Bruda’s words rattled through her head as they so often did. It was time she made her way to Winterfell.

**********

   Jon was sat by Arya’s bed as he had been ever since they had set sail on this ship. He had barely eaten, worry over his sister’s state wearing away at him from within. Missandei had visited a few times to provide him with food. When, on her second visit, she had seen that he hadn’t touched anything on the plate, she had sent Davos in to have a stern word with him. From that moment, he had forced himself to eat. 

   Arya had come in and out of consciousness whilst he had been sat there. When she was awake, the quiet reassurances he had provided for her had done little to assuage the sheer amount of pain she was in. She had constantly been dosed with Milk of the Poppy in an attempt to lessen her suffering. Jon was beginning to lose the little hope he had. The problem with giving her such a large amount of pain relief was that it meant you couldn’t get an accurate measure of the condition she was in. It was a miracle that she had lasted this long. The sword to the stomach she had received would likely be fatal. Her tiny sword compared to the great weapons the soldiers had wielded was a mismatch. He felt it was his fault. He shouldn’t have let her fight in that scenario.

   He took comfort in watching her chest slowly rise up and then lower down gently in a cycle that showed some promise of her survival. But, left alone with his thoughts, watching his own blood in this agony, his mind had soon turned dark. He thought back to that moment he had been made to choose between his best friend and sister. That fucking warlock had made him make that decision. Such a lack of sympathy wasn’t normal. He had cursed his name a number of times. He had shed so many tears the first night, thinking back to the young boy he had met at the Night’s Watch. All he could see now was his pale, dying face looking into his eyes for the final time. He’d smashed a lot of things that night. Everyone else on the ship had sensibly left him to act out on his grief. If anyone had come in at that time, he didn't fully know what he would have done to them. 

   All the suffering his family had been a part of. His father, brothers and mother dead at the hands of their multiple enemies. His oldest sister had been put through psychological torture by so many men. And now his youngest sister lay slowly dying in front of him. She hadn’t woken at all today, which greatly worried him. He held her tiny hands in his, gently stroking them. He hoped that it somehow gave her comfort. He caught a glance of himself in a mirror. He looked broken. He had wished to see his sister once again after he had departed Winterfell all those years ago. He wanted to laugh at how cruel fate could be. He had eventually got his wish but now she was being taken from him once again. 

   He was so lost in thought that he failed to notice that her chest had stopped moving. When he looked at her again, he realised this development. He shot up from his chair by the side of her bed and moved to grab her limp form. He started shouting her name in anguish as if it would somehow bring her back. Tears started flowing out of his eyes as he let himself cry. He bent over her and just brought her body to his, holding her in a tight hug. He didn't care that some of the blood that had tarnished her most recent bandages began to coat his own clothes. All he cared about was that he had lost yet another member of his family. All the thoughts of the oncoming war vanished in an instant. This was the only thing that mattered at the end of the day. He was sure that one day the pain he was feeling right now would lessen but, for now, he embraced it. It made him human. It separated him from those monsters that he would soon face. At least Arya would never have to look one of those White Walkers in the eye.

   He barely took notice of Missandei rushing into the room, attempting to pry Arya from his arms to see if his cries were true. He eventually gave in and, from the grave look that soon filled her face, he knew that it was too late. He made eye contact with Tyrion, who was standing at a respectful distance away in the doorway. He gave the Stark boy a sympathetic look. He didn't know how he’d cope if he lost Jaime. Jon just gave him an expressionless gaze in response. He didn't want other people seeing him like this but he realised that it had to be done. Everyone went through this and he knew people would be wary around him for the next few days. Although he didn't look forward to that, he was glad he had this support and that they were on their way to Winterfell. Arya was finally returning home.

   But then the anger took ahold of him once again. He had left Sam behind to take Arya instead and now both were dead. And that was down to one person. The warlock. And he vowed that he would make him suffer as much as his sister had.


	24. Confrontations and Unveilings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wants revenge and Bruda is his target

  Jon quietly creeped into the unguarded room. Inside, there was no one about apart from the lone body lying in the bed. It was almost too easy; the door hadn’t even been locked. All he had to do was take his sword and drive it through the chest of the warlock. Give him the same fate his sister had. But that wouldn’t be good enough. No. He had to suffer. He’d keep the old man on the bed and torture him. Maybe a few fingers could come off. He’d slowly send cuts along his body. Make him whimper and beg and then he would show enough mercy to end his sorry life. Bruda’s staff was across the room as well, meaning that he wouldn’t be able to perform any of his magic. He was defenceless. It gave him pause. What would his father think about this? This wasn’t noble. Cutting down an enemy when they had no time to fight back. But his other enemies hadn’t killed his sister. He made himself believe that Eddard Stark would approve of what he had planned.

   He walked over to the bed and loomed over the body. He watched as his chest rose and fell as he breathed. Arya’s had done that. Before she...he didn't like saying that, as if it made it more real. He roughly shoved Bruda’s shoulder, prompting him to wake up quickly. For a moment, he stared up blearily in confusion before he realised who it was. A smile graced his lips, despite the scowl looking down upon him.

   “Jon? Has one of those hapless fools sent you to tell me that my torturous confinement has ended and I’m free to wander around once again?” He pushed himself out of bed, stretching as he did so. He walked slowly in a small circle as the feeling in his legs steadily returned. “I tell you something...when I see those two, I’ll be having words. Telling me to stay in bed! I’m a grown man, older than both of them put together. The nerve!” He was rambling, pent up energy being released as he moved about. He finally noticed that Jon hadn’t said a word. He stopped and looked at the younger man, searching his dark face. “Snow? What’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a...oh no. No she hasn’t. Arya...I’m so sorry Jon. She was far too young. Too young to be involved in this. A girl her age should have no worries apart from dreaming about her first kiss or what her life has in store for her. A real shame.”

   “Stop!” Jon barked at him, his anger finally spilling over. All this sympathy being shown, it was a lie. A facade. An act to make him believe he was actually sorry when he couldn’t care less. He was almost believable too, something which sickened Jon. “You have the audacity to speak her name?” His voice was still raised. It would probably attract the attention of the other people on the ship. He’d have to this quicker than he had wanted then. It was at this time that Bruda noticed Jon’s right hand strongly gripping the hilt of his sword at his hip. He warily took a step back. “You made me choose!” Tears stung his eyes as he let his fury escape him at last. “You said that we couldn’t take both of them! Sam or Arya. You made me pick! And now they’re both dead! Because of you!” His sword came out and he began to swing it dangerously. Bruda raised his right hand in front of him. A haze of blue light appeared and Jon was suddenly thrown through the air, before he was pinned against the wooden wall by the magical force. The warlock’s face was one of pure anger. Jon was confused and now scared; he had underestimated Bruda’s capability, even when he was in a weakened state.

   The sound of Jon hitting the wall and the commotion that had occurred beforehand had obviously caught the attention of some of the people on the ship as Jon had predicted since Davos and Jorah came rushing into the room. They stopped in their tracks when they saw the scene playing out, both of them perplexed as to what had happened.

   “Bruda!” Davos shouted at the warlock. “What the hell are you doing? Put the lad down!”

   “Why don’t you ask him why he’s in this predicament?” Bruda responded. “This is all self defence.” He lowered his hand and Jon slumped to the floor. He made himself get up rather quickly but, when he looked at Bruda’s facial expression, as well as the confused looks of the other two men, he dropped his sword to the floor with a loud metal clang. He was slowly coming to his senses. Maybe they had been knocked back into him when he hit the wall. A feeling of embarrassment was filling him, although there was still some overlying hatred.

   “Care to explain what is going on now?” Jorah asked him. The last thing he needed right now was another dead body. 

   “Arya’s...dead.” It was the first time he had said it out loud and the fact stung him deeply. 

   “We know.” This time, Davos’s voice was a lot softer. “But that doesn’t explain why you came here looking for a fight with someone you had no chance of beating.”

   “He blames me for his sister’s death,” Bruda interrupted, still slightly seething. He was more annoyed at the absurdity of the notion than Jon’s actions. “Says I made him choose between her and Sam and now they’re both dead. But what he’s really trying to say is that he has a guilt hanging over him.” Jon hung his head at the words, proving to the warlock that he was correct. “He blames himself really. Thinks he failed both of them. But he wanted to lash out at someone and I was the easiest choice in his mind.”

   “Is this true?” Davos looked at the young man by the wall, looking defeated. He nodded his head.

   “I’m...sorry.” Jon’s voice was broken.

   “As you should be,” Bruda retorted. “Look, Snow. We are more than sorry about what you have been through and we understand what you are currently going through.”

   “You wouldn’t understand,” Jon said, that anger still lingering. The fury quickly returned to Bruda’s face though.

   “Excuse me? Excuse me?!” His voice rose in volume as he tried to comprehend the apparent stupidity in front of him. “Look at me!” he shouted at Jon, who did as he was told. “We don’t understand? Of course we understand! You think you’re the only one who has ever grieved before? Who has ever lost someone? Get over yourself. Davos lost his son. Jorah lost his father. Probably everyone on this ship has lost someone.”

   “Have you?” The question caught him off guard. Bruda wanted to shout at Jon that it wasn’t any of his business but he knew that he needed Jon to see some sense. 

   “Yes. A long time ago. Isabella. She was injured. It was fatal, sadly.” He gave a sad laugh. “It broke me, especially because I had to look her in the eyes and do what I had to do to Sam. You look at me and think, because of my abilities, that I don’t have human emotions. Let me tell you something, I have felt more in my life than you ever will. So yeah, I have lost someone.” A silence hung over the room. Jon stood there wanting the floor to swallow him up. He couldn’t believe how much of a fool he had been. “Jon, we are heading to war. Many people will die, that’s an inevitability. But if you react in this same way again, we’ll lose. That’s the harsh reality we’re facing.” He walked across the room and picked up his staff. “I want everyone gathered together. I’m tired of waiting around.” He made for the door but Jorah stopped him.

   “We still don’t think you should be walking about too much.” He didn't get a verbal response. Bruda swung his hand in a small circle and the bed he had been confined to suddenly burst into flames before it crumbled into a pile of ash. 

**********

   Olenna poured some red wine from the ornate jug into two glasses waiting on the small table in front of her. Once both were filled with a respectable volume, she took ahold of them both and turned around. Her eyes scrutinised the young woman sat waiting before her. She resembled herself so much that it was frightening at times. Margaery gave a small smile as the drink was placed in her hand but the older woman could tell that her mind was elsewhere. She needed her to say what she was currently thinking. Taking a sip of the fruity liquid, she stared at the other woman, almost making her squirm in her seat.

   “So…” she began, swirling the wine slowly in the glass. She was acting as if what she was about to say was nothing more serious than the latest gossip. “That was quite some show from our young king.” Margaery hesitantly nodded her head in agreement. 

   “It was. I believe my husband is just having his first taste of the real pressures of being the king. He’ll soon learn how to deal with it better. I bet every king before him had these moments at some point.” Her eyes betrayed her true feelings on how she actually believed it was becoming too much for him.

   “Does a king normally order the execution of his own soldiers?” Olenna asked, knowing the answer fully well already.

   “...when he has to. As King Tommen said, any show of cowardice has to be punished.”

   “Then put them on the front line of the next battle!” Olenna roared in response, putting her glass down as she got closer to Margaery. “Teach them a lesson of how cowardice is punished by being forced to fight again. By setting this precedent, he’ll lose half his army in a month. He is not a great tactician, that is for sure.” 

   “Any person has to learn these skills to grow as a ruler. Give him time. Have patience.” Her pleas did nothing to change Olenna’s mind.

   “I’m a good judge of character. The power has simply gone to his head and he feels that he can take on any opponent. What he fails to take into account is that he is facing a threat that past kings, who are greater than he by a long shot, fell to. Two allies joining together is certainly bad enough but when both have a legitimate claim to the throne and one has the backing of dragons then stronger leadership is required.”

   “What you speak of is treason. I won’t have a part in it, especially when I’m married to the one you want rid of.”

   “I don’t want Tommen gone from the throne. He’s young, which means he is malleable. Open to ideas from people he listens to. His wife.” She gave a meaningful look to the young woman. “You need to start whispering in his ear. I need you to be that strong leadership but from behind the scenes.”

   “What exactly do you want me to do?”

   “Do you not have your own brain, girl? He is paranoid as it is but, if you slip the notion into his head that people close to him are tempted by betrayal, do you not think he will instantly believe you? Convince him. Use what the gods gave you. A pretty face and a sharp mind. A dangerous and often deadly combination.”

   “Do you think that something along those lines is actually happening?” Olenna gave a small smirk.

   “Dear, I have been involved in this game for too long for me to admit. Everyone has their own agenda, that’s the only truth you can ever rely on. Even the High Septon, who pretends to be absolved of all his sins. Do you think he really cares about what reforms King Tommen puts in place? Do you think he gives a toss about the wars the realm will face? No. But he tells the king he does because, otherwise, he would not be allowed a seat next to him. Every person on the king’s council has grovelled at the feet of someone else. They’ll continue that pattern long after Tommen is gone.”

   “You want him to be rid of them.” It wasn’t a question; she was beginning to figure out this plan.

   “That is the preferable option,” Olenna said, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “Although a king does need a council or else he’ll become a tyrant. The look in that boy’s eyes today told me that he is susceptible to that path. What we can accept is if he has advisors but the people he only truly trusts are us two. We can guide him through this god awful political landscape but everyone will feel as if they are being listened to. The worst thing that can happen to destabilise the crown is a group of unhappy men who want more power than they deserve.” Margaery nodded her head, her smile now echoing the one Olenna had worn moments ago.

   “I will speak with Tommen later tonight in bed. That is when he is most relaxed, as I’m sure you have realised.”

   “Why do you think I’m trusting you with this?” She gave a bark of laughter as she spoke. “You understand how men work. You want to control a man and make him do your bidding...grab him by the cock and don’t let go.”

**********

   Stannis ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He noted how it was beginning to grow slightly wild and untamed; he hadn’t had time to take care of such menial matters recently. Still he waited for news regarding the young Targaryen girl and her men. He was still uncertain whether that Jaime Lannister had been telling the truth when he spoke about the king’s plans. They sounded rash and ill advised; a decision he would never make if he was the one sitting on the throne. That angered him greatly because he knew he would be doing such a greater job than his nephew. He shook his head whilst he thought for this, not for the first time during the many occasions he had alone recently. A sense of bitterness ran through him but he couldn’t let that control him. Especially with activity ramping up in Winterfell. Daenerys’s entire fleet carrying dragonstone and soldiers had reached the shores of Westeros little over a week ago and they had reached the castle within a few days. Almost immediately, he had given the instruction to start forming the dragonstone into usable weapons, although he had allowed for the arrivals to rest up beforehand. People had questioned whether work would pause whilst they waited to see if their ally had survived the attack, if there actually had been one. He didn't see any point in doing that, knowing that, even if she did not join him at Winterfell, the dead certainly would. No matter what, they had to be ready for that.

   The door opened to his room. He looked up, expecting the intruder to be Melisandre or Mance. Possibly even the Lannister himself. He was surprised to see that it was his daughter, Shireen, who had interrupted his thoughts. With all the chaos going on, he had made little time for her, something that he knew he should have felt guilty for. He didn't want her involved in this war or anywhere near it. Yet she stood in front of him, wearing a determined but patient look on her face.

   “Shireen…” he began, his voice questioning. “This is unexpected. Is there a reason for you to visit?”

   “Do I need a reason to see my father?” The cold question hurt him but he didn't let it show. “I just wanted to check up on you. I rarely get to see you and I just need to know that you’re still coping with all this.” He was proud of how mature she sounded in that moment. He beckoned her over to him before he gathered her gently in his hands.

   “It is not your job to worry about me,” he quietly whispered in her ear. “But I am grateful for your concern. It is just a difficult time, as you can probably tell.” His voice sounded almost rueful.

   “Why not just leave? You could have a quiet and fairly comfortable life if you really wanted.” He’d often dreamt of exactly that but knew that would never be possible.

   “Oh Shireen...you are wise beyond your years, that is certain. But the troubles and horrors we face are greater than you could ever imagine. Those stories you read...think of the monsters written about. I shouldn’t tell you this but you deserve to know - they come for us now and it is my duty to face them.” He expected her to recoil in fright or shock, to yell at him in derision for such astounding lies. She remained calm, which prompted him to send her a questioning look.

   “I already know.” She had to explain quickly when she saw his expression darken. “The soldiers are wont to talk a lot when they have had a lot to drink. It was rather easy to pick up on what is happening right here. I knew something was different when I saw that strange material brought in and it being used to create horrendous looking swords.” Stannis chuckled slightly.

   “The last place a young girl like you should be is anywhere near my men in a drunken state.” His comment wasn’t one of anger; that hint of pride still rang through. He was about to apologise to her for not telling her sooner when the door opened once again. Melisandre, her red robes billowing behind her, stepped inside with a frantic look on her face. She barely processed the fact that Shireen was there before she started speaking.

   “The Lannister was right. Dragonstone was attacked on the orders of the Crown.” Stannis stood up immediately. Shireen’s face turned to one of horror.

   “What about ser Davos?” she yelled. “He went to Dragonstone! Is he okay?” Her father wanted to shush her before he saw the extent of her worried facial expression. He bent down to her level, crouching next to her as he rubbed her arm.

   “Well?” he asked the Red Priestess. “Do we know what happened?”

   “It seems that the Lannister’s advice was fruitful. The fleet commanded by the Greyjoys was able to finish off the ships that remained.”

   “The ships that remained?” he reiterated in disbelief. “You mean to say that they managed to hold back and defeat an armada without the use of their own fleet of ships?”

   “It appears so. The dragons made quick work of them on all accounts.” He shuddered to think what the final thoughts were of those who had perished in those flames.

   “What about ser Davos?” the young girl repeated. Melisandre looked almost annoyed at the interruption but answered anyway.

   “We have no way of knowing who survived the attack or if there were any casualties at all. Daenerys Targaryen is said to still be alive at least.” That was good news it seemed. Those dragons appeared to be a mighty weapon that would be useful in the coming war. Stannis noted how Shireen had begun to cry and wiped away the few tears.

   “Davos is a wily character. A survivor. I’m sure he will return to us.” His words seemed to help soothe her at least a little bit.

   “That might be sooner than you think. Word says that they joined the Greyjoy fleet and are on their way here. We’d best get ready for their arrival.”

**********

   Bruda sat at the head of the room, his eyes closed as he rested his head on his hands. His fingers were steepled together as if he was in deep thought. In truth, he was merely waiting for everyone to survive. Once he had sent Jorah and Davos to send the message that everyone who was in Daenerys’s close circle should gather here, it had been a quick process. The door to the room was shut, the noise causing the warlock to open his eyes. He stood up from his chair and took a couple of steps forward. He eyed the people standing around him. The old guard, Jorah, Davos and ser Barristan Selmy, were stood together, eyeing Bruda warily, unsure as to what he was planning. Jon, still unable to fully hold the gaze of the older man, was resting on the wall in the far corner. To spare any embarrassment, Bruda wasn’t planning to mention their brief scuffle. No one so far had asked about the commotion. Daario, standing in a similar way to Jon, was in the other corner, twiddling with his fingers as if this impromptu meeting was of little interest to him. The last to arrive had been Varys, along with Tyrion and Missandei. When they saw the tense posture of the mage, they had said nothing, waiting to see what this was all about.

   “The last couple of days have been far from ideal,” Bruda began. “We’ve taken a hit, that’s for sure. And right now you may feel that our situation is a dire one.”

   “Has there been any word from Daenerys?” Tyrion asked him. Bruda’s face saddened even further at the question. It was actually Jorah who replied.

   “Not as of yet,” came the blunt answer. The shortness of the response made sure that the imp would hold back on any questions for now.”

   “You all know that we’re heading for Winterfell. We begin the final leg of the journey tomorrow, I’m told by the sailors on deck. We can not let this setback affect us. The King felt he would be able to crush us but we, in the end, came out victorious.” He held his hand up in a placating manner when he noticed Jon tense up once again. “That doesn’t mean that we didn't take losses and tragically, good men and women were taken from us. But that is war. This group standing here will be depleted if we make it out of the wars we are set to face. The sooner we accept that, the sooner we can move on and focus on winning.” He stopped for a moment as he saw everyone nodding their heads. His face darkened all of a sudden. “I have one serious issue though. The reason we lost the people we did was because those soldiers knew how to get into the castle without us initially finding out. The only reason we did find out when we did was because I accidentally stumbled into them.”

   “Which means they got a tip off,” reasoned Varys. 

   “Exactly,” Bruda said, nodding his head in the general direction of the eunuch. “I was talking to Jorah and Davos a bit ago and we discussed the possibility that someone on the outside may have told them.”

   “That’s impossible,” inputted Tyrion. “You know as well as I do that Dragonstone has been closed off to most people since it was a Targaryen stronghold. Even more so since Stannis took control of it. The only outsiders with that knowledge would be working for him but it wouldn’t make sense for any of them to spread those types of secrets.”

   “We also came to that conclusion,” Bruda said to him. He was walking in a small circle, looking at everyone as he passed them. “Which means that someone here has loose lips. And, at first, I couldn’t fathom why anyone would betray Daenerys and us in such a way. It simply doesn’t make sense. And yet it really does. Someone became disgruntled with their position here and thought they’d be rewarded more spectacularly by the young boy sat on the Iron Throne. Isn’t that right...Daario?” The man in question, who Bruda had already noticed had become tense at the way the conversation was going, tried to make it to the door but he was stopped in his tracks when the warlock waved his right hand. With a move of his right arm, Daario was sent surging towards the seat Bruda had been sat in before. Ropes that had been sitting in the corner suddenly came to life, wrapping themselves around the struggling body. Bruda, stopping the other angry people in the room from advancing, walked up to the trapped sailor. 

   “I understand where you’re coming from, I really do,” whispered the wizard in Daario’s ears. “You thought you were special, being Daenerys’s second hand man for a brief time. But then Jorah came back and you were quickly forgotten, relegated to simply watching over your ships. You thought she cared for you and that turned out to be a lie, didn't it? It was so hard to accept and your denial soon became anger at such a large injustice. So you bide your time, waiting in the wings. Always there but no one really pays you any attention. You’re free to do what you want and you choose to send a letter to King’s Landing about the one weakness Dragonstone has, or I should say had. Clever and obviously effective. You didn't expect us to survive, did you?”

   “But he waited for us in his ship,” Tyrion interrupted, perplexed at this turn of events. “Surely that means he’s on our side.” A couple of them nodded in agreement.

   “Sadly not. You’re forgetting that I was the one who told him to stay back when the ships left. If he didn't, he knew I’d figure out why. I already had my suspicions though, which is why I ordered him to do that.” Daario hadn’t said a word. “What I can’t understand is how you were able to still look at us, knowing that your actions cost the lives of people we cared about. Snow, you wanted someone to blame for Arya and Sam’s deaths...here he is.” No words uttered by the betrayer. “Nothing to say? That’s probably smart. If I was in your position, I’d also save my words for when Daenerys sees you again.”


	25. Mud and Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long walk to Winterfell provides plenty of time for conversation

Jorah trudged through the mud with a scowl on his face. They’d been walking for a while now after their ship docked at the Westerosi port as they headed for Winterfell in the North. A large group of soldiers led the way, all bearing the Greyjoy sigil. There was a tension hanging over the group; the revelations from Bruda had shocked them all and had left the overriding sense of distrust surrounding them. This was compounded by the small coffin being pulled by a cart, both conjured up by their resident warlock. Jon walked by it, almost as if he was guarding it. He eyed Daario, who had been ordered to help pull the wooden cart, with a dangerous look. Jorah was thankful that the young Stark boy had listened to Bruda’s sage advice to leave the punishment to Daenerys. If she ever returned. That was the main reason for his sour attitude, not knowing where his Khaleesi was.

   “She’ll be okay, you know.” Bruda had somehow materialised by his side, one of the many tricks he so often did. It made the knight jump slightly, although he tried to play it cool. The warlock decided to overlook the small interaction. Jorah was also more confused as to how Bruda had known what he was thinking about. He wouldn’t have been surprised to know that one of his abilities was to read minds. How else had he figured out Daario’s plans so easily? A sideways glance was all the response he gave, prompting the mage to sigh audibly. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Mormont. I can see it on your face, that look of hard concentration and thought. There’s only one thing in this world that would puzzle you so much.”

   “Maybe I’m trying to remember how far it is until we reach Winterfell.” The retort was far from convincing.

   “You never have been a good liar, have you?” Bruda smirked at his companion, getting an eye roll in return.

   “She just flew away, unprepared. She’s never flown on one of the dragons before. She’s never been to Westeros before. For all we know, she could be dead. Fell off in the air and plummeted. We all could just be going on a fool’s errand.”

   “Yet there is no way you believe that for one second. She has a strange connection to those beasts so it being her first time won’t be a factor. I bet she’ll have found it bloody easy and it will just end up being another thing about her that amazes you. Then it being her first time in Westeros is rendered mute because she has three dragons. No one will bother her because she has three dragons. She can get from place to place easily because she has three dragons. Can you see the point I’m making. She has three dragons. She’s in a much better situation than we are. Any moment, a rogue clan or an army of a noble house could spring upon us and we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

   “Is this you trying to comfort me?” Jorah was still astounded by the other man’s strangeness at times.

   “You’re no longer worrying about her as much. You’re now preoccupied with our impending doom. I can’t get rid of all your problems, I’m not a magician.” 

   “What are you then?”

   “There’ll come a day, very soon, when I can tell you that. For now, if you haven’t already figured it out, you’ll just have to wait.” Jorah hadn’t expected to get such a foreboding response and was about to delve further into what Bruda had said when he realised the warlock had disappeared again, now choosing to talk to Davos. It was just something else to add to the thoughts that were tormenting him as they walked on.

   Unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes were watching them curiously. Varys, dressed in clothes of a standard nowhere near to the ones he usually wore, was stepping through the mud with the air of someone who had practice at it. Tyrion eyed him with surprise, expecting the eunuch to struggle in the terrible conditions. He noted that he was wearing a similar outfit to the one he had worn on their journey to Meereen. He was mostly perturbed by the fact that he was struggling more with the horrendous environment due to his small legs.

   “How are you walking so easily through this?” he asked him. His question seemed to break Varys from his thoughts and it took him a second to register the inquiry.

   “A spider has to learn to get around. Lest an animal who wants to eat it approaches.”

   “Are you currently expecting to get attacked by an animal?” Tyrion sometimes struggled to keep up with the constant analogies.

   “Right now, animals are the least of our concerns. We intend to face the horrors of the night with little or no preparedness in how to beat them or how to actually defend ourselves. Yet we must not lose track of the enemies that walk amongst us already.”  Instinctively, Tyrion looked at Daario, who had two soldiers by his side as he pulled the cart.

   “What do you make of those accusations?” he wondered out loud.

   “I’m sure the warlock is correct and it all makes sense. The tale of jealousy and revenge has always plagued kingdoms and the Realm as a whole. It was only a matter of time before something like this came to light.”

    “You trust what Bruda says then?” Tyrion was currently opting to stay cautious until the final verdict came. He knew all about false allegations after his time with Catelyn Stark at the Eyrie.

   “He has given me no reason not to. He clearly wants what is best for Daenerys, as we all do, otherwise we wouldn’t be punishing ourselves right now. And he seems to have a desire to stop the dead from killing us all, which is an admirable trait in a person. If he can do so, then I will be on his side since he will be protecting the Realm as I have done.”

   “So you don’t think he has secrets of his own. He seems too...perfect.” Tyrion swore he could hear a laugh come from Varys.

   “All men have secrets and he is no ordinary man. If there is one thing I am certain of, he has as many secrets as all I know, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I just have the feeling that one of them will change the outlook of the war and our perspective of the dear warlock.”

**********

    Pycelle was scribbling away on a large piece of parchment about his new findings in a black ink, trying his best not to smudge any of his precious work. The day before, he had been sent a mysterious package, although he had known fairly quickly who the sender had been. Inside the small box was a shard of rock that he had only seen in the dusty books that littered the many shelves in his room. Dragonglass. A horrific yet beautiful piece of nature that he was told held a lot of importance for the future. That’s what Jaime Lannister had been saying, at least. They had been in correspondence ever since he had left King’s Landing. It was Jaime’s way of keeping up to date with the goings on within the capital and, after Cersei’s death, the Grandmaester had seen the self exiled man as the next in line to serve. He had always been loyal to the Queen and that stretched to her brother. Especially compared to Tommen, who had been increasingly showing signs of a troubling and blood thirsty nature. 

   One letter from Jaime had discussed how a large shipment of dragonglass had arrived at Winterfell. He had gone on to explain the situation they were facing and, although Pycelle had initially been disbelieving about tales of the dead, simply passing them off as Northern fairy tales, the detail in which the Lannister had spoken had convinced him. From that point on, he had offered his services to help them analyse the properties of the substance, sharing notes with the Archmaester that had arrived there. Marwyn was his name, from what he could remember.

   This was the first time he had been given the opportunity to work on the rock directly. He had supplied theories about what it could do from what he learned from the books he had read but theories and presumptions were nothing compared to cold, hard facts. Straight away, he had noticed how it reacted to different elements, most notably fire. It seemed to drag the fire within itself, taking all the heat from its source. It was a peculiar sight, with no other substance having this capability as far as he was aware. He had immediately started writing down the findings to send off to his new distant colleague.

   Although Jaime had never discussed Dragonstone in the letters he had sent, Pycelle had reasoned that that was where they had got the large store of Dragonglass. He didn't know of any other place that contained such an abundance of the material. It had troubled him then when Tommen had ordered the attack on the Targaryen stronghold so he had taken it upon himself to send a warning out. From the subsequent recent discussions that had taken place in the council room, his intervention had been a success. Yet he was still wary that people would find out about his treasonous behaviour but he reasoned that helping to save the kingdom was more important than his life. He had lived long enough anyway, he reasoned.

   He was hunched over his desk when the knock at the door came. He instantly got a sense of foreboding. No one ever came to see him really. That was more apparent ever since the execution of Cersei. He almost spilt the ink pot all over his workings with his shaky hands but managed to save it at the last minute. He told whoever was waiting outside that he was coming in a frantic voice before he quickly shuffled around his room. He called for a crow, with one swooping down to land at his desk. He hurriedly folded up the piece of parchment after signing off on it, along with a briefly added message, before instructing the bird to take it to Winterfell. He opened the window and the crow took flight. He allowed himself to take a sigh of relief before he composed himself. Ambling to the door, he opened it to see that it was Margaery who had come to visit him. She gave him a sickly sweet smile as he came into her view.

   “Ah, my Queen!” he stated, acting surprised. “It is a pleasure to see you down here although this isn’t work of someone of your stature. If you wanted my presence, you should have just sent for one of the boys scurrying around here.” 

   “Nonsense. The king himself sent me. He wishes to speak with you.”

   “Is that so?” His voice became darker at the thinly veiled order. “Do you know the reason for this?”

   “I do actually. Me. I’m the reason because I was having a conversation with him just before. We were discussing a lot of things, mainly about the recent developments we’ve seen.”

   “Well, quite apt. I’m sure it is a troubling time for the young king but I’m also certain that he will pull through, especially with the help of your good self.”

   “I feel exactly the same. Which is why I think it’s best he gets rid of all those who seek to betray him. Don’t you agree, Grandmaester?” His answer was full with stutters now.

   “Ye...yes. Absolutely...a king needs to be able to rely on his council, that’s for sure.”

   “Funny...I never said anything about the council.” Pycelle now wore a troubled look. “But now you mention it...my love is worried about your loyalties. He feels that you are in communication with people that you shouldn’t be.” The maester knew that these feelings were directly hers, planted in the mind of the king.

   “Preposterous!” he exclaimed. “I have served the Crown for half a century! There is no way that you can doubt my allegiance to the one who sits on the throne!”

   “Oh, but there is. You’ve always been so close to the Lannister family. It was you who convinced Aegon to open his gates to Tywin Lannister, was it not? And seeing as Tommen isn’t a true Lion, it would only make sense for you to look elsewhere.”

   “These are baseless lies! I served his father and brother dutifully for goodness sake. Why would I then choose to abandon their son and brother in this time of need?”

   “The same father who was killed in a  _ hunting accident?  _ And the brother who died on your watch? Don’t worry Pycelle. You can explain this all to King Tommen. I’m sure that he can be the forgiving type.” They began walking towards the door, Margaery behind the older man. He never suspected her to do it. She produced a small dagger and stabbed him twice in quick succession in the back. As his knees buckled, she leant towards him and whispered in his ear. “Sadly...I’m not.” Pycelle crumpled to the floor in a dead heap. She would get someone to deal with the body later. For now she needed to get rid of the weapon. And remove herself from his situation.

**********

   “Are we there yet?” Bruda moaned, not for the first time. He was basically a small child in an elderly man’s body, Jorah had reasoned a day into their walk. The weather conditions had only gotten worse as they went further up North, which was delaying them considerably. Tiredness and an overall moodiness was settling upon the group. Tyrion had been shouted at for quite some length of time by Jon when he had chosen to take a rest on the cart that was carrying Arya’s coffin. No one, despite their general weariness, had made the same mistake so far. Davos and Jorah were currently able to zone out Bruda’s complaining because they knew that Winterfell was getting closer with each footstep. 

   “If only we had the magic powers, we’d be able to silence him for a while,” the Scot remarked, bringing about a laugh from his travelling companion. “Might make this walk a more pleasant one.”

   “I don’t think the gods gave Bruda to us so he could make our lives easier, for some reason,” came the response. Jorah was surprised how easy he found it to talk to Davos, not normally being such an open person. The three of them, especially with the absence of Daenerys, had formed their own group of sorts. 

   “Well, I’m certainly glad we have him. Just for the pure entertainment value when we have to introduce him to Stannis. If ever two worlds collide, that would be it.” 

   “How do you think he has been coping without your guidance for so long?” Jorah asked him, trying to understand the regard Davos was held by the Baratheon.

   “He’ll have been fine, for sure. He has plenty of people there for advice. Including that Melisandre.” His voice had a disgusted note as he spoke her name.

   “Who?”

   “The Red Woman. She claims to have powers given from the Lord of the Light. I’ve seen some of the things she has done. Dark things. She is not to be trusted as far as I’m concerned, no matter what Stannis says or believes. But if she can help us in this war then I’m happy to put up with her. I just don’t want to see what monstrous thing happens when she meets our resident warlock.” 

   “I look forward to meeting her then,” Bruda said from a bit behind them. They hadn’t known he could hear their conversation. Presumably another of his abilities. 

   Behind them, Missandei stumbled over a slick patch of mud, falling to the ground with a stifled cry. Tyrion, being the gentleman he had been raised to be, was immediately by her side to help her up. He could tell that she didn't want to be further embarrassed by being pulled up, wanting to do it herself, but he still offered her an arm. Begrudgingly, she took the proffered arm, although she gave him a look to not use this as ammunition in one of their future conversations.

   “This kind of travel is not befitting a lady such as yourself,” the dwarf quipped. She never knew whether he was actually flirting with her or whether it was just his default personality.

   “You forget that I was a slave, Tyrion. I am used to walking long distances and normally, if I were to fall like that, I would not receive such compassion. Punishment was more likely. So do not belittle me as nothing more than a woman because I am so much more than that.” Her words seemed to shock the both of them equally and Tyrion looked genuinely abashed about his actions.

   “I am truly sorry,” came the quick apology. “And I know all that.” She was taken aback by how truthful his words sounded. “You are nothing like the women I am used to interacting with.” He had often mentioned the type of women he had dalliances with in the past. She had always pretended to act disgusted by what he said, although they usually had been amusing tales.

   “I am glad you do not see me as one of the whores that you used to keep in your room.” There was now a hint of mirth in her voice, as if she was messing with him. 

   “Of course not. Although you are a woman of beauty, you are also gifted with a razor sharp mind.” The only person before this to complement her had been Greyworm, although his manner always restricted him from doing it often. She was shocked to feel that the usual emptiness she felt when thinking about the dead man wasn’t there anymore. A lot had changed since his passing and most of that was down to the man walking by her side. It was just such a shame that he always found a way to ruin his heartfelt messages. “You’re basically a female version of myself.” The grin he sent her as he finished his sentence was one that he knew riled her up at times. God, she wanted to slap him.

   Jon was forlornly walking by the side of the cart, not bringing his eyes to look at the wooden box it was carrying. He was also making sure that he didn't look at the man that was pulling the cart, if you could call someone who betrayed his allies a man. That was because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to control his actions if he stared long enough at the reason his sister was dead. 

   “He’s not worth it, you know.” Jon was surprised to see that Bruda had chosen to walk with him for a bit. He still felt a hint of embarrassment when he saw the warlock. “Sure, revenge seems like the just thing to want and killing him might be a very satisfying thing to do but it won’t bring her back. No one can properly resurrect the dead. It’s against the laws of nature. It’s an incredibly sad reality but it’s the one we have, so we have to move on whilst still remembering the ones we’ve lost.”

   “The Night King can bring back the fallen,” Jon retorted, still clinging on to the small hope that Arya could be brought back.

   “Not properly. The creatures that fight by his side are not people. They may resemble what they once looked like but they are lacking in everything that makes a person human. Compassion. Love. Intelligence. Humour. The ability to make your own choices. They don’t have that and never will.” Bruda gave him a stern look. “And you don’t want that for your sister.” He was right. Of course he was right. It didn't make it hurt any less.

   “Did you...did you ever want to punish those who killed...Isabella?” He was hesitant because he didn't know whether it was a place to ask the older man such a question.

   “Of course I did. It’s a natural reaction. The anger that you’re feeling right now. And I could so easily have killed them. A simple wave of my hand. But I knew that it was a pointless thing to do and I’d be the only loser. If I’d killed them, they would have been freed of their guilt of murdering an innocent woman. Yet I’d still be left all alone, just with another body on my conscience. It wasn’t worth it.” He gave a sad look to Jon. “I’m not trying to downplay the emotions you’re feeling right now. The only way that you can ease your pain is by remembering them in the way they lived. When I think of her now, I don’t see her body lying on the ground. I imagine that moment when I first saw her. She gave me a strange look, which was understandable. I am a weird thing to look at. But she smiled. And no one ever smiled at me. From that point, I was hooked.” 

   Jon was about to respond when a soldier up ahead shouted. He hadn’t caught what was said but the group had become a bit more energised. He looked at Bruda, who had been broken out of his memories by the alert. 

   “Smoke,” he explained. “We’re arriving at Winterfell.”

***********

   The gates to the castle swung open with an audible creak that signalled their age. A crowd had formed when the news spread that Daenerys Targaryen was arriving, the mysterious young girl from across the sea. But when the group entered the courtyard after the Greyjoy contingent had marched to the camps outside of the grounds, no one could see her or her notorious blonde hair. An air of confusion spread like wildfire across the welcoming party, something that was picked up on by Stannis. He was front and centre as he prepared himself to greet the newcomers, with Melisandre standing next to him. The first person he took note of was Davos, who walked up to him and shook his hand.

   “It is very good to see you, Seaworth,” Stannis remarked.

   “I can say the same to you. I trust the castle has been running smoothly despite my extended absence.”

   “We’ve been managing. The shipment we received from you has certainly kept us busy. We were worried that you wouldn’t make it back when we heard about the attack.”

   “Aye. It’s a miracle so many of us survived. That’s mostly in part to your intervention.”

   “You’ll thank the Lannister for that. He got a tip off from the capital, it seems.”

   “Interesting. I should introduce you to my new...colleagues.” He had no idea how he would describe this eclectic assortment of people. “Ser Jorah Mormont, of Bear Island. I gather he will be useful when you attempt to enlist the support of his niece.” He went on to introduce everyone who was a part of Daenerys’s council. He was only interrupted when Sansa had come running out to see her brother. The look he had given her had instantly put an end to her happiness, especially when he wrapped her in a tight hug and took her away from the crowd. Apart from that, one thing still concerned Stannis.

   “Well then, where is she? Daenerys Targaryen?”

   “We don’t know,” Jorah responded simply with a shrug of her shoulders. Bruda walked up to the opposing contingent.

   “As you can probably tell, we’ve had a few difficulties lately. One of which is that our Queen decided to travel here her own way. Haven’t heard from her for a while but I’m sure she’ll eventually turn up and you can finally meet. She’s rather excited.”

   “If she was so excited to meet us, she would show us enough grace to not keep us waiting.” It was Melisandre who spoke. Bruda gave her a look as if he hadn’t registered her presence whilst he was talking to Stannis.

   “Oh okay. Let me see. Red hair, red dress, overall creepy vibe going on. You must be a Red Priestess. I’d say it’s a pleasure but I don’t know whether you lot do pleasantries.”

   “You think you have the standing to insult me, warlock?”

   “Well, at least I don’t claim to harness my powers from a mysterious god.”

   “And where do you get your abilities from then?” she wondered. 

   “I’m all natural love.” He sent her a wink that she plainly ignored.

   “The Lord of Light has whispered about you through the flames. You smile and jest but you know the fate that awaits you here. You know the words that precede you, the phrase that signals your arrival.”

   “I do. But don’t for one moment believe that your Lord of Light has any say in how my life pans out.” Despite the seriousness of what had been said, Bruda gave her another smirk before rejoining his group.

   “That went well,” Jorah whispered to him. 

   “She wants me,” was all that Bruda said, which caused his friend to almost choke. Some of the people around them looked at them suspiciously but they both played it off.

   “I’m certain you are all tired from your travels,” Stannis said, directing the conversation back on track. “We have a lot of people here with us as we prepare for the future, as you can probably see. I don’t feel like we should hold any meetings until Daenerys arrives so you have the freedom of the North.” With that, the crowd began to disperse as they went back to making Winterfell a hive of activity. 

   “I should go find Marwyn at some point,” Bruda remarked, knowing that he had some research to do of his own. The words of Melisandre had troubled him more than he let on and he knew that he needed answers before the White Walkers were upon them. Jorah seemed to be able to sense his slight unease.

   “Are you okay?”

   “Yes, yes. Probably just the cold. And I’m old. You can’t expect me to walk that far and not be slightly more off than usual.”

   “I can’t tell if you can even be ‘more off’,” Jorah quipped. Bruda decided to respond by swinging his staff gently into the back of the knight’s knee before he started snooping around the castle. Jorah shook his head as he watched the other man walk away before his eyes turned to the sky, hoping that it would soon be holding the sight of dragons.


	26. Sparks and Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell is greeted with a new visitor as plans are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice that, for the foreseeable future, most parts of the chapters will take place in the North since the war against the dead is picking up pace. Quite similar to what happened in the show.

Jorah and Bruda walked together across the courtyard with no particular destination set in their minds. They crossed the open space with no words shared, simply being in one another’s presence. It had been a stressful few days and they both knew how difficult times would become in the near future. Their group had seamlessly settled amongst the people of Winterfell, with even Bruda not getting second glances. He presumed they were now accustomed to strange magical beings wandering around the place with Melisandre around all the time. His brief interaction with her had been a fun yet troubling one; she knew something but wasn’t willing to let anything on. It was positively infuriating for the warlock so he tried his best to put it at the back of his mind. Jorah could sense that something was wrong so tried to bring about a conversation to distract him.

   “Have you managed to find Marwyn yet?” he asked.

   “Hmm? No, not yet. I’ve been...preoccupied, you could say. Although I do intend to speak with him at some point.”

   “Why do you want to see him anyway?”

   “Pure fascination. He’s had time to research dragonglass more closely. Since we’re relying on it so heavily, I thought it best that at least I know its inner workings. I have a theory of course and, if I’m proved right, then we should be good.”

   “And if you’re not correct?” Jorah hadn’t seen the warlock be wrong about anything so far but he guessed it was still a possibility.

   “That’s what’s troubling me so greatly. If I’m wrong, we don’t stand a chance in this war.”

   “Well...let’s pray they you’re right. I hope you’ll be able to share any information you discover with us.”

   “Possibly. Depends if I think you can comprehend it all.” He began to laugh but stopped suddenly, his face scrunching up in confusion.

   “What is it? What’s wrong?” Panic began to rise in Jorah’s voice.

   “Can’t you feel it? In the air…” He lifted his finger in the air after putting it in his mouth, walking in a circle around the knight. He stopped where he had began, his eyes wide. “It’s familiar...It’s warm. Or getting warmer.”

   “So?”

   “So?” he repeated incredulously, rounding on Jorah. “We’re in the North. The last thing it currently should be is warm.” He was looking wildly to the blue sky, the morning sun not providing any warmth as usual. He began to set off in a run of sorts, catching Jorah by surprise.

   “What are you doing?” Mormont shouted, still confused by the quick change in his demeanour.

   “Just follow me!” came the response as they climbed a short flight of stairs to stand on the outer wall of the courtyard. “I so hope it’s what I think it is.” Jorah was about to again ask what on earth was going through Bruda’s mind when he heard it. Quiet at first but still so wonderfully recognisable. A roar. 

   The clouds parted as three great beasts soared closer to them. “Ha ha!” came the cheer from the warlock. “Oh you beauty!” People who had been working down below looked up in fright, others running from their warm rooms inside to see what the commotion was. The largest of the dragons flew right over them, the two of them catching a glimpse of the person they had been waiting to see. Overjoyed, Bruda lifted his staff and shot out red sparks whilst cheering loudly. They began to set off in the direction the dragons were going with even more enthusiasm than before.

   By the time they arrived, with other people getting a head start on them, a large and excited gathering had formed a bit off from where the three dragons had landed. More shouts ensued when a fourth dragon emerged from the valley behind them, burnt orange scales standing out amongst the pure white snow. Hidebyo was much larger than they remembered, getting close to match Rhaegal and Viserion in size. It was just another thing that Bruda would have to talk about with Marwyn. But, for now, that was at the back of their mind. They barged past people as they forced themselves to the front of the crowd to see her.

   Daenerys was in the process of gliding down Drogon’s neck, showing a grace that didn't suit the situation. Once her feet landed on the soft ground, she gently stroked the scales that lined his face, thanking him for getting her here. She didn't understand how he had known where Winterfell was; she simply assumed he was intelligent enough to just know what destination she wanted. She turned around to look at the group of people that had followed the path of her flight and stopped in her tracks. Jorah was at the front, only a few steps away from her with a happy expression on his face. It suited him, she realised. He needed to smile more and she vowed that she would make that happen. A grin took hold of her face as well and they both started sprinting to one another. The knight wrapped her in his big arms and they both stood there for a while in silence, enjoying each other’s embrace. She softly kissed him on the cheek and looked him in the eye.

   “Can I get in on this?” The question came behind them and she recognised that voice. Bruda had a warm smile on his face that seemed to alleviate a number of his years. She looked at Jorah once again before she laughed and stepped over to the warlock. She expected maybe a pat on the shoulder, possibly a short hug. She wasn’t ready for when he picked her up and spun her around in a dizzying circle, showing strength that belied his age. He plonked her on the ground, allowing her to regain her composure. His face grew serious. “Don’t do that again. I can’t tell you how much moping I have had to deal with from him.” He gesticulated a finger towards Jorah, who was wearing a sheepish expression.

   “I must apologise then. I should get you a badge for your service.” Bruda had missed her playful quips.

   “You gave us a fright though, Khaleesi.” Jorah’s words were full with sincerity and Daenerys had the grace to look ashamed.

   “I know. But it had to be done. I saw that you’d made it to the beach so knew that I could set off.”

   “Set off where?” Jorah asked, a question that both of the men had been wanting to know.

   “I think she can tell us all that in a warmer place.” Again, the voice came from behind them. Stannis, trying to ignore the signs of emotion on display from his new ally, had made his way to the front of the crowd, joined by Melisandre and Davos. The Hand was trying his best not to smirk at the situation. Bruda leant to whisper in her ear.

   “Stannis Baratheon,” he explained in a whisper, her eyes widening slightly. “Act...queenly.” She glared at him for his so called help but was met with a smirk.

   “Lord Baratheon, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m sorry for making you wait so long.” She was now wearing a graceful smile, taking in the persona of the leader she was. It was a skill to change so suddenly from the gleeful young woman she had just been. It impressed Stannis a great deal.

   “I’m sure you have your reasons and I’m also sure you have a few tales to tell us. Would you care to discuss these matters more privately?” She gave a nod of her head in response.

**********

   A war council of sorts had formed in the main dining hall of Winterfell. It was the only room that was large enough to fit so many people in. Advisors for both rulers had been brought together so they could discuss their next steps. There were three large tables set up within the room, although not many were opting to sit. People were simply too agitated to stay in one place whilst the meeting went on. Stannis stood stoically by one of the tables, with Melisandre by his side. Bran, wheeled in by Meera, was watching the other people. By the other table stood Daenerys, talking to Jorah whilst Bruda looked around the room. Varys and Tyrion were also close by, whilst Jon and Davos bridged the gap between the two parties. Mance Rayder and Tormund had planned to come but, at the last minute, spoke of a fight breaking out between two former tribe leaders amongst the freefolk. Despite the shared pleasantries when Daenerys had arrived, there was still a tense atmosphere. 

   “Where do you want begin?” Daenerys asked her host, trying her best to be polite.

   “Why not tell us where you have been? If I’m to work by your side, I should probably know about your...escapades,” Stannis responded. The way he said it annoyed her for some reason.

   “When we were attacked, I took to the skies. I noticed that, apart from the sigil of your House, the main flag was of two towers.” She enjoyed the look he gave her when she mentioned it was his nephew who had been thwarting him so far. 

   “The Freys,” he reasoned. She nodded.

   “I remember Ser Jorah telling me about them and how their allegiances aren’t very strong. I didn't see it right that they should go unpunished for their actions so I paid them a visit. And burnt their towers to the ground.” Most people in the room looked aghast at her admission, including Jorah and Bruda, but Stannis was impressed with her strength.

   “In the long run, that will greatly help us in the pursuit of the Crown. But did you not think that your survival was more important to us in the Great War than your revenge?”

   “It was on the way here,” came her simple justification. Bruda laughed at her comment. 

   “Well...now that you’re here, we should discuss the future. How do we approach a fight with an unknown enemy?” It was a question that was troubling them all. 

   Bruda spoke up. “We have to make Winterfell a fortress. We have plenty of dragonglass. When we’ve made weapons enough for all of us, we need spikes and traps around the perimeter and walls. If we can get rid of some of them without actually fighting, we’ll have a better chance of winning.”

   “So we just wait until they arrive?” the Red Woman asked him, a scathing tone in her voice. He stopped himself from bristling.

   “Of course not. It would make sense for some of us to travel further North to see what the White Walkers have already done. The only problem we have is that we don’t know where they are or what progress they have made. For all we know, they could be a mile away and this is a pointless conversation.”

   “They’re not.” This time it was Bran who spoke. 

   “And how would you know that?” 

   “I’m the Three Eyed Raven.” The warlock frowned at the revelation. He’d heard that name before but, at his age, he was susceptible to forgetting things at times.

   “Okay...and what does that have to do with anything we’re talking about?”

   “I believe I share a connection with the Night King. I can see where he is.”

   “Well why didn't you start with that?” he exclaimed, a bit more enthusiastically. “That’s very helpful indeed.” Stannis was becoming a bit perturbed by how this man had taken control of the conversation but could tell he had a way of engrossing people when he talked. “Where are they now?”

   “Last time I checked, they were still beyond the Wall but only just.”

   “That’s why the Night’s Watch left,” Jon added. “They could tell that the Walkers were approaching.”

   “Has anything peculiar happened regarding the Wall since they left?” Bruda asked the group. “Or even just before.”

   “East watch fell silent,” Davos pointed out. “No communication from them since the people at Castle Black left.”

   “So you think the White Walkers already got to them?” Daenerys asked. 

   “It’s likely. There’s no other reason why they wouldn’t send reports back,” Jon answered.

   “But how? They’d have to get past the wall and, currently, we don’t have any way of knowing how they would accomplish such a feat. Which means we need to go to East Watch.” Bruda’s words stunned the room. 

   “You can’t be serious,” Stannis said with an incredulous tone.

   “Deadly. If they can get past the Wall, we need to know how. And what if there are survivors there? Isn’t it our duty to help them?”

   “It’s our duty to win this war.” He was beginning to get annoyed with the Red Woman. “Risking ourselves on this whim will do the opposite.”

   “Just a small party. Not everyone. I volunteer. We won’t win unless we can figure out more about them and I have a feeling something there will be important.”

   “I agree,” Daenerys said, getting an appreciative nod from the warlock. “If Bruda thinks it might hold some information, then it’s worth the risk.”

   “And I can protect myself. And whoever else comes with me.”

   “Then it’s settled,” Stannis said, ending the discussion. “We still need more men to fight for us though.”

   “Have you thought about what I suggested?” came the question from Davos. 

   “I was meaning to talk to Ser Mormont about your proposal.” Jorah perked his head up when his name was mentioned. “Your niece commands your House and the men it holds. It would make sense for you to be a part of the party that went to Bear Island to discuss an alliance.”

   “I haven’t been back there for years. I don’t think I’d be welcome. I’d probably diminish the chances of you reaching a successful agreement.”

   “Jorah.” Daenerys reached for his arm, holding it gently. “You going might show her that this is a fight worth getting involved with. And we need all the support we can get.”

   “I’ll go with you as well,” Davos said. “You might need somebody with more political know how to help you.”

   “But who will go with me?” Bruda complained. 

   “I will,” Jon volunteered. It showed the warlock that they had moved past their rough patch. “And we’d take people with more knowledge of the area. Mance and Tormund will come. The likes of the Sandor Clegane might as well. People are growing restless - they might want to just get out.” Bruda nodded his head.

   “At least we’re getting somewhere now. Is there anything else we need to discuss?” Stannis could tell that the discussions were becoming finalised, which could be done elsewhere.

   “One thing,” Bruda said, looking at Daenerys. She was worried by the sad expression on his face. “I think you need to see someone. And you’re not going to be happy.”

**********

   She looked down at the man sat in chains with contempt and rage in her eyes. Daenerys had trusted him. She felt like such a fool. Bruda had explained his reasoning behind Daario’s betrayal and had the uneasy but correct feeling that it was mostly her fault. She had driven him to such a dark place and it showed her how little she knew about ruling and how to balance the needs of your close advisors. When she had voiced her worries, she had been quickly rebuffed by Jorah and Bruda.

   “It is not your job to satisfy the wants of a greedy man,” Bruda had said to her as they walked to the cell underneath Winterfell. It was a dark and grimy place and she felt it befitted the likes of the sellsword.

   “I should have seen it coming,” she had responded, disappointed in herself. Jorah didn't like how her confidence was waning because of one simple mistake.

   “None of us did though and it’s our job to stop these things from happening. The only person we can blame properly for his actions is Daario himself.” That had been the end of that discussion, the two of them no longer listening to her concerns. They knew she had more important things to consider at the moment and wanted this nuisance to be dealt with as fast as possible.

   Jorah kicked the sleeping body roughly, causing the Second Son commander to awaken quickly. It took him a moment for his eyes to become adjusted to the dark, as it did every morning he had been inside his prison. What caught his attention was the flaming torch that was being held by Bruda, which illuminated the features of Daenerys. When he realised that she was here, fear filled his eyes as he knew his fate was to come at that moment. He tried to scramble up to his feet but the Mormont knight shoved him back down. It was only right that she got to look down upon him as she spoke.

   “My...Queen!” he stammered, pretending to be pleased by her presence. “No one told me you had arrived. It is a pleasure to see you.” She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his words. She didn't know how he could say such a thing in his situation with a straight face. 

   “Yet it really isn’t” Her voice was filled with disdain for the man before her. “People are dead because of you.” She had already taken the time to speak to Jon Snow so that she could share her condolences for his losses. He had been grateful but had wanted to get the conversation over with quickly, which was understandable. She wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it too if she was in his position.

   “So you believe the lies that creep says.” Bruda simply smiled at his poor insult. “He has no evidence and yet I sit here as your prisoner.”

   “He has no reason to lie and he has, so far, never led me astray. He has given me a motive for your actions, which I see is my fault. But that doesn’t absolve you. You are the one who betrayed me and I have been taught to never stand for that.”

   “I never spoke to anyone!” he denied vehemently. “I am devoted to you Dany. We have shared each other. Does that not count for anything.” She bent down so that he could see her icy glare.

   “Never speak my name again. And it does not. I was foolish and made a mistake. But I won’t make an error again when it comes to you.”

   “So what now? You kill me? Will you be my executioner? If you murder me here, my men will riot. They won’t fight for you without me here. And I know for a fact that you are relying on their numbers to bulk up your army.” She almost felt sorry for him in that he thought he was right and in a position to barter for his life. 

   “The Second Sons will fight along with the other men of my army. Side by side with Dothraki and Unsullied. Because they are sellswords and battle for money. Or have you forgotten that? I also remember you killing your two superiors to impress me and yet, they did not ‘riot’, as you put it so eloquently. I think I’ll take my chances.” He gritted his teeth and spat at her but it never reached her, Bruda waving his hand in an instance to stop it before it fired back at Daario. “As for who your executioner will be. You are right in saying that it won’t directly be me. But I feel safe in relying on Drogon to carry out the act. And he has such a keen nose for guilt.” His eyes belied the fear he felt inside of him, which was proof enough for Daenerys that Daario had betrayed them.

   Jorah undid the chains that bound their prisoner and lifted him up. He held Daario’s arms tightly behind his back, eliciting a pained grimace from him. The four of them walked through the dark corridors and eventually made it outside, although that did little to improve the amount they could see. Nighttime had fallen upon Winterfell, meaning not many people were wandering in the courtyard. Those who were gave them curious glances but didn't say anything when they saw the dark looks on their faces. 

   Daenerys led them out of the castle grounds, keeping her cloak tight to herself in an attempt to fight the biting cold. They could see the lights off in the close distance that signalled the campsites that housed the many soldiers amassed by the two leaders. She had seen a deep gorge when she had flown over and instinctively knew that’s where her dragons would be. As they got closer, a black wing emerged from beyond the edge, followed closely by a claw. They gave Drogon the space he needed to spread out in front of them. When he saw the dragon, Daario began struggling again and pleading loudly with Daenerys to forgive him. That was enough evidence of guilt for her. Drogon’s eyes focused in on the sellsword.

   “Daario Naharis,” she began solemnly. “I made it clear to my council that any act of betrayal would be severely punished and yet you went behind my back and risked the lives of all of us. I take that as a grave personal insult and no leader will stand for that. That’s why I, Daenerys Stormborn, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons and future Queen of Westeros...sentence you to die.” Drogon let out a guttural growl as he snarled at his victim. Jorah let Daario go and, for one second, Daenerys thought he might do the honourable thing and take his execution where he stood. Instead, he tried running, slipping in the snow around them. Drogon turned his neck in the direction of the guilty man and let out a breath of hot flames. They swarmed around Daario and screamed out in pain, collapsing to the ground a futilely rolling around in the hope the cold snow would soothe his suffering. Eventually, the body stopped moving and the three of them left, ignoring the sounds of bones crunching in the beast’s mouth.

**********

      Bruda knocked on the wooden door deep inside the castle. He had been instructed that this was where the maester would be. Most people had learnt to give him a lot of space since he was so busy with vital experiments. When there was no prompt response, he slowly pushed open the door and peered inside. Marwyn was hunched over a large stack of scrolls and books, running a hand through his short grey hair. The warlock coughed into his hand to announce his presence, which caused the archmaester to jump in shock. He spun around with wide eyes before he relaxed when he saw who it was.

   “Ah...warlock. This is a surprise to see you down here.”

   “I did knock,” Bruda said, edging his way more into the room. He took stock of the mess in the room. Scribblings and drawings littered the room and a pile of dragonglass sat in the corner next to the table.

   “I don’t doubt you did. I was probably lost in my own world.”

   “A favourite pastime of mine, I must admit.” Marwyn chuckled at the comment before he sobered.

   “I wasn’t able to greet you when you arrived. I’ve been busy, you see. How’s Samwell doing?” Bruda’s face fell as he thought back to the young man’s demise.

   “Sam...didn't make it back with us,” he admitted solemnly. Marwyn had to steady himself at the tragic news, not expecting it. “I’m sorry...I’m sure you’ve heard about the attack. He didn't have a lot of experience with fighting but he still saved a lot of people.”

   “That’s all he wanted to do. Help people. It’s why he came to the Citadel. Far too young.” Marwyn was more muttering to himself now rather than speaking to Bruda.

   “He was a good man. But we can’t let his death be for nothing. I was told you’ve been examining dragonglass and I must say that I have a passing interest in the stuff.”

   “As you should,” he responded, trying not to think about Samwell. “It’s not like anything I’ve worked with before. All I knew about it previously came from old tales.”

   “Thing is though...are those stories right?” Bruda picked up a piece of the rock, turning it around in his hand. It felt strange to him. As he moved it around, he could feel his magic being drawn to it. He just didn't know why. He had a similar experience during his first interaction with it in the caves at Dragonstone. He placed it down on the table, giving it a disgusted look as he wiped his hands on his cloak. “They spoke of it being formed by dragonfire, didn't they?”

   “That was the accepted reasoning for centuries. It would explain how it gets such a dark colour.”

   “But you don’t believe that.”

   “It’s certainly a possibility. Hundreds of years ago, there would have been plenty enough dragons to form it. But it’s such a rare substance...if it was formed by dragons, you’d expect there to be more.”

   “So what formed it?”

   “That’s the question. The shape it takes, it must be from fire. Recent studies claim that there are fires beneath the surface of the ground.” Bruda’s eyes lit up.

   “Now that’s interesting. What if there was something like a hot spot beneath dragonstone, causing this fire to push up more there. It would explain why it had so much of the stuff.”

   “I was thinking something similar. But all that matters is that we know it was formed in flames. Possibly a key to defeating the white walkers.”

   Bruda stroked his beard. “It just all keeps coming back to fire,” he muttered. “Speaking of, that dragon of yours has grown quite a bit.”

   “Another thing I’ve been looking at recently. The only thing I can think of is that it’s due to the flames he was born in. Hidebyo hatched in wildfire, which is more uncontrollable than your average fire.”

   “So he’s just able to absorb more energy from it and that controls his growth. Will be a useful weapon, that’s for sure.” Marwyn was about to agree when the door opened again. Jaime Lannister came through the opening, stopping short when he saw the unexpected person in the room.

   “Another letter Marwyn.” He handed the piece of paper to the archmaester before looking Bruda up and down. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

   “Warlock Bruda.” He stretched his arm. Jaime took it hesitantly.

   “Jaime Lannister.” Bruda’s eyes lit up with recognition. 

   “You’re a far cry from home, aren’t you?”

   “Well, when I heard about the battle against the dead, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He noticed the ashen face of the maester. “What does it say?”

   “Pycelle is dead. His final words seemed to be hastily added on at the end. Knew that they had found out.” Jaime shook his head at the news.

   “Who’s Pycelle? And find out what?” Bruda asked them both. 

   “He was the Grandmaester at King’s Landing. He was helping us research dragonglass and also gave the warning that saved you back at Dragonstone. The situation in the capital is worse than I thought,” Jaime answered bitterly.

   “Another person claimed in this war before it’s properly begun,” Bruda said. “And I’m sorry to say he won’t be the last.”


	27. Certainty and Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Jorah finally have some time alone as Stannis learns about his new allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave a comment if you're enjoying the story so far.

  Daenerys was slowly walking around her new room, taking in the minimal comforts it presented. It was simple to say the least but she knew she would spend very little time in there. This was the first time she had been alone since arriving at Winterfell and it was a strange sensation. Even when she had flown away from Dragonstone, she still always had the comfort of her dragons with her. She looked out the window, observing the people down below working. Working to try and save the kingdom against an unknown enemy. One she had only seen in paintings. Why had she so readily agreed to help in a war she had knowledge of? Bruda had always been adamant that she had to come here. A man who was a stranger to her less than a year ago had greatly shaped her life and it troubled her how much she trusted the warlock. She could see him in the courtyard, apparently unaware of her watching eyes. Knowing him, he would probably look up with a wry smile on his face to catch her in the act. At the moment, he was standing by as crates of dragonglass, most of it forged into weapons, were transported past where he was standing. He would sometimes pick up a piece, examine it and then put it back with a concerned look on his face. That worried her - he didn't know something and he had always been the one to know seemingly everything. 

   Her eyes continued their surveillance of the castle grounds, observing Stannis standing with little expression on his face, as was usual. Her brief time with the Baratheon had allowed her to reason that he was not a man to show his feelings unless it was absolutely necessary. That made it difficult for her to fathom why he had proposed the alliance. His goal was to sit on the throne, something she wanted desperately. It didn't make political sense to team up with her unless he was truly willing to risk his chances to win the war. If that was so, she greatly admired him. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that the Red Woman had poisoned his mind with tantalising thoughts which would account for his willingness to fight.

   There was a knock at her door and she moved to it, knowing that whoever it was was friendly since she had two Unsullied guards outside her room. She smiled when she saw that it was Jorah who had come to see her. An even rarer occurrence was the two of them having time alone together. 

   “Khaleesi, I wanted to see how you are. You just had a long and difficult journey after all,” he said as he stood in the door entrance. She raised an eyebrow at the reason for his visit.

   “Are you sure that it isn’t just because I’m alone and you wanted to see me. Since you love me, after all.” She relished in the sight of him blushing. His eyes had also widened after she spoke so openly. They both moved into her room so that the soldiers outside wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation.

   “That might also be the cause for my visit.” She smiled at his shyness. She was sad that they hadn’t been able to share more time together since his confession. That had been on the way to Dragonstone, all that time ago. She grasped the top of his shirt and pulled him close with a strength that didn't fit with her small physique. She planted a soft kiss on his lips and pulled away, smirking at the bewildered look on his face.

   “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to do that.” Jorah slowly nodded his head in response, still processing what happened. She moved to sit on her bed, near to the small fire that was lit. It was the only thing keeping the stone room from becoming freezing but it meant that she could walk around without having to wear her thick cloak. 

   “We have been quite busy lately,” he stuttered after finally rediscovering his ability to talk. 

   “And that’s not going to change soon I reckon. I have the feeling that we’re so close to the fight.”

   “Might explain why Bruda has been acting so jittery recently.”

   “Are you sure it wasn’t just because I was gone? He’s quite protective of me, just like you.” She sent him a warm smile.

   “Of course we are. That might have been a reason. But it’s just been since we arrived here. And after what that Melisandre said.”

   “What did she say?” Daenerys asked curiously.

   “It was when we first arrived here. They had a slight war of words. She mentioned how his fate was twinned with this place.”

   “He’s always spoken about Winterfell. Said that we had to come here. Do you think that he knows something and won’t tell us?” She couldn’t fathom why he wouldn’t trust them enough to share any secrets.

   “I think he has been on his own for a long time and anything he knows relates to him personally. He probably will think that he doesn’t need to bother you with it at the moment.”

   “I’ll need to have a word with him then. If something is concerning him, then I should know. As his queen and his friend.”

   “So he’s your friend now?” She’d never put a label on their strange relationship before.

   “I’ve known him long enough now. And we’ve been through a lot together. He was also a natural fit to replace you in that spot.” He looked at her with his face wrinkled in thought.

   “What am I to you then?” It was her turn to blush and she started stuttering, nothing like the confident young woman she normally was. He reached his hand out to gently hold her arm, signalling to her that it was alright not to define anything at the moment. “If you’re wanting to talk to him,” he said, changing the subject, “ then you’ll have to act soon.”

   She nodded her head, thankful that she was rid of that brief embarrassment. “I still don’t know how I feel about him going to the Wall.”

   “He’ll be fine. He’s not going past the Wall and, as far as we know, the White Walkers haven’t got past there yet. And he’ll have plenty of support with him.”

   “But what if he dies? I don’t think I’d be able to cope with losing either of you.”

   “He’s too stubborn to die until it’s his time. And it’s not his time yet.”

   “How would you know that?”

   “Because he wants to see you win this war. Like I said - stubborn.” She tried to put the thought to the back of her mind for the time being.

   “How are you feeling about going back home,” she asked him with concern, knowing he didn't like to talk about his past.

   “Mixed feelings really. It depends on what sort of reception I get. Lyanna Mormont won’t remember when I betrayed my family so maybe she won’t hold a grudge.”

   “All you have to do is convince her to send her own men to fight against the dead. Simple.” Daenerys hit him on the shoulder when he gave her a bemused look. “You know, you’re not going yet. And I haven’t seen you in ages and now you’re leaving me.” There was no way he could resist the look she was giving him. Jorah cusped her face in his hands as he kissed her tenderly. The door stayed closed for a considerable amount of time.

**********

   Sansa had never been close to her sister. Throughout most of her life, she had viewed Arya as nothing more than a nuisance. Someone who would probably dampen her chances of marrying into a highborn family and living a happy life. But now that she had gone through that ordeal, a time she rightly considered as the worst of her short life, and was standing in front of the tomb of her sister, she realised how greatly she had got her priorities wrong. She wanted to believe that it wasn’t her fault. She had been fed stories of gallant knights and princes by Septa Mordane from an early age and so had no choice but to fall in love with the idea of such a person. Yet she saw how foolish a child she had been, expecting such fairytales to be true. Sometimes, she wished she had lived more like her sister. It must have been freeing to not care about what was expected of you, to live your life the way you truly wanted. The opportunity for both of them to do that was now long gone.

   She had been stood in the Winterfell crypts for quite a while, simply looking at the likeness of her sister in the stone figure. It didn't do her justice. Arya had been so full of life, another reason why Sansa had got annoyed with her so many times. All those scathing words that had left her mouth. She wanted to remember what her last words had been to her. They hadn’t seen each other since their father’s execution. She had grown up. They both had. It shouldn’t have ended this way.

   The ceremony had been small and simple. Not many people who lived in Winterfell for the time being knew who she was and so only a small group had gathered. She had expected it just to be her, Jon and Bran. Yet Meera had stayed with the crippled boy, something that Sansa was appreciative of. She was even more surprised when the old man that had arrived with Jon from Dragonstone had paid a visit to send his thoughts and well wishes. He had said that he had only been able to have one proper conversation with her (she was sure he said that it had taken place on a ship mast but knew that couldn’t be possible) and was sad that he’d had so little time with her. It had been Maester Capaldi, an old yet imposing lean old man, who did the ceremony but he had struggled to commemorate her memory sufficiently, which was understandable since he had no idea who she was. That’s what deeply saddened Sansa. It seemed too stale. She wondered what it would have been like if the whole Stark family had still been here at the castle. There would have been a state of mourning for weeks. Now it was ideal to simply get it done quickly. Arya wouldn’t be the last to die. That was the grim reality they were facing now. 

   When Jon had come back, he had taken the time to explain to her the full situation regarding the white walkers. He had mentioned them briefly before and she had picked up pieces of information from loud talking soldiers, but she had never been told properly what they were facing. It had been a grim conversation and the look of horror on his face as he spoke made her appreciate why he had been forced to go down south to negotiate with the Targaryen girl. Sansa had faced many terrible things but couldn’t comprehend the monsters he described. In one way, she was glad that Arya would never have to fight one of those things.

   She heard footsteps as someone new came down into the crypt. She immediately tried to wipe away the tears that had stung her face to make herself look more presentable. The lessons she learnt as a young girl were sometimes hard to forget. She couldn’t make out who the approaching figure was due to the dim lighting in the underground room.

   “Don’t worry about what you look like,” a gruff voice said from the darkness. “I’m not someone you have to fucking impress or who cares what state you’re in.” The Hound, she realised as the towering man came out of the shadows. She had definitely not anticipated him of all people coming down. She didn't respond to his statement, fixating intently on the statue. She left him to grieve, or whatever it was he was doing, in silence. He had barely paid her any attention since he had come to Winterfell from further up north. This was the first time they had interacted since their time in the capital.

   “She never knew I survived,” Sandor said, a strange hint of sadness in his voice. 

   “Pardon?” she asked, not fully hearing him the first time.

   “Stop with your pardons! Or did you never listen to what I told ya?” That moment of weakness was gone in an instant. She kept her eyes on the tomb, not letting him see how his words hurt her.

   “Why are you down here?” she asked, more icily than she expected. If he didn't want any pleasantries, she wouldn’t give him any.

   “The same reason you are. To pay respects to the dead.”

   “You don’t exactly resemble someone who does that sort of thing.” He was almost surprised by the amount of disgust in her voice.

   “I’m not a monster. We spent a lot of time together. Whether she wanted to be there in the first place is another matter. It’s only right that I do this. But you spread any word of me being here and I’ll make sure you won’t be saying anything for a long time.” She knew that it was an idle threat but still cowered slightly. Without anything else being said, Clegane stormed out of the crypts, leaving Sansa even more confused.

   **********

   Davos had received a simple summons in a note given to him by one of the young boys that roamed Winterfell. He had expected such an invitation from Stannis, presuming that he would want a full and detailed run through of his time at Dragonstone. The Scotsman knew this was vital for him since it would give him an invaluable insight into the sort of people he was now working alongside with. 

   He walked along the wooden panels of the upper outside floor, not noticing the icy cold that had settled around the castle. It didn't bother him anymore. He smiled as he saw someone who he recognised instantly running towards him. He hadn’t had the chance to see Shireen since he arrived back but had been planning on doing so after the talks with her father were over. He thought that Stannis could wait a moment. As that idea flashed through his mind, he realised that he would never have given thought to that before his experiences with Daenerys’s group of people. The young girl gave him a tight hug when she finally reached, causing him to give a small “oof” at the contact.

   “Ser Davos,” she exclaimed excitedly. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting to see you since you got back.” The eagerness in her voice made him feel a painful pang of guilt.

   “I’ve sadly been incredibly busy. You know, getting back to living here. It’s a lot different to what I’ve known recently. But that isn’t a good enough excuse to have not seen you. I can only apologise, princess.”

   “It’s okay. I heard father mention that you were coming to see him so I made sure to wait outside so I could greet you first.”

   “You’re a very wise girl. And a stealthy one to have managed to overhear his conversations.” He gave her a pointed look but couldn’t bring himself to pretend to be annoyed at her. If she felt any remorse at her actions, Shireen did a good job of not showing it.

   “He shouldn’t speak so loudly if he doesn’t want to be heard.” Davos chuckled at her reasoning, rubbing her hair in a playful manner that she scowled at playfully.

   “I’ve missed your mischievousness,” he said, laughing as he did so. Her smile turned into a thoughtful look.

   “How much have you read whilst you were away?” He had hoped that she wouldn’t ask that question.

   “I’m sure you heard that we were attacked. There simply wasn’t any time to read whilst I was escaping.” He was stretching the truth, to be sure, but he didn't want to be viewed negatively by the child. “I did manage to peruse a few chapters of that book you gave me though on the way there. I can see why you enjoy those stories so much.” 

   “But you’ve been able to live those stories now! I am so jealous of you. Did you get to see the dragons up close?”

   “Many times, princess. They’re even more intelligent than the tales say. And much more majestic than you could ever imagine.”

   “I saw them fly over the castle. I wish only that I’d be able to meet one of them.” He pretended to examine her as he gave her proposal a thought, stroking his short beard in an exaggerated manner.

   “I tell you what, if you can finish a book tonight and tell me about it tomorrow, I might be able to have a word with Queen Daenerys to try and convince her to let you take a peak.” Her eyes went wide and she hugged him again, somehow even tighter this time. She repeatedly said thank you over and over again before she set off to start her task. He watched her run off with a fond smile on his face before he resumed his walk to Stannis’s council room.

   After being called in when he knocked on the door, he entered the fairly large room to see that the wannabe king was all on his own. It was increasingly rare to see him without the Red Woman by his side so it was a surprise to Davos, although he didn't feel that he should bring it up. Stannis stood up from his desk and slowly walked to the end of the table, so far not saying a word to his main advisor. Davos waited patiently, knowing that it wasn’t his place to start the conversation.

   “Tell me about them. What are they like? How do they operate as a unit?” He had always been straight to the point, never one to waste time with niceties. And Davos knew straight away who the subject of his question where seeing as he had spent so long with them. 

   “Where should I start?” There was plenty to talk about but, curiously, he felt that he didn't want to divulge everything to his superior, not wanting to betray the new people he had become close to.

   “The girl.” All Stannis wanted to know was what the people he had formed an alliance with were like.

   “A lot more fiery than you would first expect. She can certainly be courteous to guests and the like, as is expected of a leader, but if she’s messed with, she’ll hit back much harder. You heard what she did to the Twins.  And the people who follow her will gladly help her do that. Fiercely loyal.” Stannis eyed him carefully.

   “Would you say you are now loyal to her?” A very dangerous question. Davos made sure to take his time to formulate the correct response.

   “I want to see the both of you succeed together.” The answer seemed to satisfy him for the time being.

   “You said that her people are faithful, almost devoted to her. So why is it that I heard she had to...take care of a traitor?” Stannis had definitely prepared these questions in advance.

   “Any leader will have people who want more than they deserve. She accepts that she played a part in creating the problem. But it was her other advisors that brought the issue to light.”

   “The warlock.”

   “Bruda, yes. He’s a strange one but fiercely protective of her. Don’t try anything with him. He’s extremely powerful.”

   “A useful tool for us then?” Davos swore he could see a glint in his eye.

   “I don’t think he’d appreciate being referred to as a tool.”

   “Do you think I care what he’d prefer?” There was an edge to his voice now. “If he wins me this war, I will shake his hand. But that is all.” The Hand made sure to keep his mouth shut in this instant, not wanting to stoke the fire. “The Mormont...I’m guessing he is in the same category of allegiance.”

   “Aye. The one who is closest to her, definitely. Been with her from the start.” He chose not to tell him of their relationship, worrying that he would somehow use it against them.

   “Is that all?” Stannis’s eyes searched those of Davos. He nodded.

   “The main three. Those are the ones who make the decisions. You know of Tyrion Lannister and Varys the Spider.” Stannis leant against the wooden table and steepled his fingers against his chin.

   “Interesting. She relies heavily on those two then. Is emotionally invested in them. It will destroy her in the end. Let’s just hope that happens after this war is won.

**********

   “So this is my...delegate,” Bruda announced cheerfully, looking upon the small group that had assembled before him. He sat on the third step of a staircase outside, his staff standing by his side on the bottom step unsupported. He had done this to show the ensemble of people a glimpse of his powers, hoping that it would be enough to convince them that he was to be trusted. Stating that he needed more rest than the younger man, Bruda had sent Jon to gather potential men for their arduous journey. He had stipulated that they all needed experience of the Northern reaches of the kingdom and beyond, which had made it easy for Snow to pick his candidates. Tormund Giantsbane and Mance Rayder stood next to each other, with the giant ginger picking at the wood of the staircase with a small dagger. The trio of Sandor Clegane, Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr had also agreed to come on the venture. That was partly true - Beric had been made to explain that the Hound’s grunt had actually been a positive response. Jon had then found a few men, mainly wildlings, who would bulk up their numbers in case they had to fight their way out of East Watch. 

   Bruda stood up, examining the crop laid in front of him with a keen eye and not backing down when Clegane snarled at him. He nodded his head as if he was happy with the outcome before sitting down once again. Mance seemed to grow tired at the lack of progress being made in their impromptu meeting.

   “Is there a reason why we’ve been fuckin’ dragged out here? Or do you just want to look at us?”

   Bruda ignored his sour tone. “I just thought we’d get to know each other. Surely you’d rather know the man who was protecting your back from the grasp of the undead.” That shut the wildling leader up.

   “Do you expect us to face those monsters?” Clegane asked him.

   “It’s highly unlikely. The chances are that they’re still behind the Wall. Biding their time until the opportune moment strikes.”

   “You sound almost pleased about that prospect,” Tormund accused, still unsure about the warlock.

   “We all should be. A little group like us won’t represent the opportune target for them. Meaning we should be able to get quite close to the Wall, which is the main objective for us.”

   Jon looked at Bruda with a confused expression. “I thought you said that the goal was to see if there were any survivors at East Watch.”

   “The likelihood of anyone still being alive there is nil.” It was Mance who answered. “And I’m sure your warlock has already realised this.” They both turned their attention to the man in question, who kept a resolute look on his face. Jon’s turned angry.

   “You’re risking our lives so you can just see the Wall? Are you insane?” Bruda stepped up and the air began to crackle with energy. Thoros looked at it in wonder, trying to compare it to the miracles he often conjured up. 

   “Don’t question me Snow.” His voice resonated with authority. “We have to find answers. Have to find a way to defeat them. I was told that the Night’s Watch saw the Wall change. As if it were melting.” Beric nodded his head in confirmation. “Something is happening to it and it’s the only thing stopping them from swarming the kingdom. So forgive me in thinking that it is crucial to learn everything we can about what is occuring.” He held the gave of the younger man before Jon marched off. Bruda let out a sigh and put his hands on his hips. He looked at the others before settling back down on the step. “I wish this had gone better. I need your help to do this so I hope you will still come with me.” A silence settled for a moment before Dondarrion stepped forward.

   “The Lord of Light views you with significance. It would be foolish of us not to follow you and I suspect that your reasoning is correct. We’ll come.” 

   “And you’ll need a proper guide who knows the area,” Mance spoke up. “I guess it will get us out of this fuckin’ dreary place.” The others nodded their confirmations and soon the group dispersed, leaving Bruda to contemplate their next course of action. He closed his eyes as he thought. He was so deep in concentration that he didn't notice the person approach him.

   “You look tired,” they pointed out matter-of-factly. He opened his eyes to see that it was Daenerys and he gave a light chuckle at her comment. 

   “I’m just old. Especially compared to you.” She sat down next to him and they shared a companionable silence. He eyed her curiously, wondering why she had come to visit him.

   “You seem to have a healthy glow in your cheeks, if you don’t mind me saying.” Her eyes widened and her cheeks further reddened. He didn't initially know why before it finally made sense in his brain. “That sly old dog,” he said with a smile. “Or should I call him a bear?” She simply groaned at his teasing and nudged him with her shoulder.

   “You shouldn’t speak of such concerns with your queen.” She gave him a defiant look.

   “What are you going to do? Punish me?”

   “Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

   “A click of my fingers and I’d be out of there. And you know that.”

   “You didn't do that in Meereen though.”

   “I wanted to earn your trust and respect. Escaping would just annoy you and I’ve seen what happens to people who do that.” He gave a mock shudder to drive home his point.

   “You’re more intelligent than you look.” He shook his head at her antics but still sent a smile her way. Her eyes turned to the floor as she thought of what she had wanted to bring up. “Why were you adamant that we come here?” The question took him by surprise.

   “Because we should try to save the realm you want to rule.”

   “It’s not that simple. Don’t try and gloss over the details like you normally do.”

   “Why can’t it be that straightforward? Do I need to have an ulterior motive?”

   “Do you have one?” She gazed at him uncertainly, looking deep into his eyes.

   “My job is to help people. That’s what I have always tried to do. But this is what my end game is. Winter is coming. They’ve always said that. It’s my job to be there when that prophecy comes to fruition.”

   “I feel that you’re still not telling me something and it’s infuriating.” He gave her a sad look.

   “Do you trust me enough to wait until the time is right for me to explain everything?” She shakily nodded her head and Bruda put an arm around her, bringing her close to him. “Think back on our conversations and it will all make sense. Look at the minute details.”

   “Do you think you’re going to die?” Daenerys’s voice was barely above a whisper.

   “I don’t think I’m going to die, no.” He planted a soft kiss on the top of her head and it seemed to reassure her. They sat together, the companionable silence returning as they thought of what the future held.


	28. Dreams and Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wish is granted but at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please comment. It's good to hear your takes on the story and what you've enjoyed so far.

 The cold sun beamed down on the snow covered canyon. Daenerys, Jorah and Bruda stood together as they waited for their guests to arrive. The night before, Davos had gone in search of the queen, politely asking for a small favour. He had spoken earnestly about a young girl who had grown up besotted with the fairytales of old and had begged him to let her see the dragons up close. Initially, she had been hesitant to allow it simply because of the risk involved but the passion and total endearment in his voice had quickly swayed Daenerys and had, with a smile, told him to come out early in the morning with Shereen to where she had landed when she first arrived at Winterfell. They were lucky that it was such a beautiful morning, something that didn't seem to fit the sense of impending doom among the trio. Yet they had vowed not to think of that for the time being, wanting to use this opportunity to forget about the troubles that lay ahead of them. 

   “If she gets eaten by one of them, that’s on you,” Bruda muttered to her, causing Jorah to chuckle. He stopped when he received a dangerous glare from her.

   “Don’t say anything like that when she gets here. There’s a minimal chance that will happen.”

   “How reassuring. Should I say that to her when she arrives?” Jorah shook his head at their quarreling, a common pastime for the two of them. He got the sense that they enjoyed annoying and riling up each other.

   “Will you stop your bickering?” he asked them, a dreary tone in his voice. Daenerys pouted at him, which softened his look. Bruda looked aghast at their small interaction.

   “I wouldn’t get away with anything if I tried pouting like that,” he complained, mainly in jest. The blonde woman smiled at him and patted him gently on the cheek.

   “You can have all the magic in the world,” she started, “but you will never be able to challenge my charm.” He huffed at the comment.

   “Only when it comes to him. You’ll have to tell me what spell you have put on him.” Daenerys was about to continue their conversation when she saw two figures, one much smaller than the other, approaching them from the distance. She nudged the warlock to make himself look more welcoming and friendly than he normally did. She grimaced at his efforts.

   Davos guided a nervous Shireen towards where he had been told to meet them. He couldn’t tell whether the young girl was more worried about meeting the dragons or the queen. He had gone to her room when the sun had risen, knowing that she would likely be awake reading. Although initially curious and concerned why she was receiving such an early visitation, Shireen had been overjoyed to hear Davos’s plans and hadn’t taken long at all to get herself ready. 

   They eventually stood in front of the trio, Shireen partly hiding behind her father’s Hand. She fully understood how important this woman was to her father and so was trying to make sure not to do anything to disrespect her.

   “Good morning, ser Davos,” Daenerys greeted, a customary warm smile gracing her lips. The young Baratheon couldn’t believe how beautiful she was in person, just like the princesses she had read about so many times in her books.

   “It looks like it will be, yes. I must thank you again for doing this.” She waved away his words of gratitude.

   “There’s no need. I’m glad that some people are taking a keen interest in my dragons. And they do enjoy good company.” She looked at the girl with a glint in her eye. “You must be Shireen. Ser Davos has spoken a lot about you.” Shireen looked up at Davos who nodded his head encouragingly. She stepped forward cautiously before performing a small courtesy, which prompted Daenerys to smile again. Bruda, however, looked at her in concern.

   “And polite too. Your father must be very proud.” She was about to respond to the queen’s comments when the warlock stepped forward and knelt down on one knee so that he was the same height as Shireen. The others looked at with confused looks.

   “May I?” he asked gently. She nodded her head, even though she didn't know what he wanted to do. She was surprised when he reached out softly touched the area of infected skin on her face. “Greyscale. How long have you had this for?”

   “Since...I was an infant,” came the hesitant reply. 

   “Can you not cure it?” Jorah asked, thinking back to the time Bruda had saved his life in their Meereenese cell. Bruda shook his head.

   “There’s nothing to cure. It has been treated already. Somehow. Incredibly lucky indeed. They just weren’t able to save the affected skin.” Daenerys was worried that he was making her feel uncomfortable judging by the worried look on her face. “I could do something about that though.” He looked into her eyes. “Do you want me to remove it? I’ve got practice now. I managed to cure my friend here.” He gestured at Jorah, who gave an awkward smile. Shireen thought about it for a moment before shaking her head.

   “Thank you very much for the offer but...it’s a part of me. For as long as I can remember. And I don’t feel like I need to change.”

   “Too right,” he said. “Wise words for such a young girl. No wonder Davos goes on about you.” The man in question looked up into the sky when she turned to him. “Now would you help an old man out? I don’t know how I got myself into this position.” She giggled and held his arm as he pushed himself up with the help of his staff. He stepped back next to Daenerys who looked at him affectionately. She whispered into his ear.

   “I didn't know you could be so gentle and...kind. It was lovely to see. You should do it more often. Maybe you do have a heart after all.” He simply shushed her whilst pressing a finger to his lips, although he did wink at her as well.

   “Well,” Davos said, after Shireen had joined his side again. “I think I have a princess here who really wants to see a dragon.” As if on cue, a low rumbling snarl could be heard from the canyon behind them before Drogon flew out in a vertical line, showing his smooth belly to the group. Shireen gasped in equal measures of surprise and awe but still made sure to back up into Davos. They were soon joined by Daenerys’s other two dragons, soaring from below to glide well over their heads. Viserion and Rhaegal were the first to land, with the former to the left and the latter to the right of them - Davos had to work hard to stop the girl from running over to them. Daenerys was about to lead her over to him when Drogon’s feet heavily made contact with the soft snow that covered the ground in front of them. He sniffed curiously at the new person, his eyes searching hers, measuring her up. They were now surrounded by the three large creatures. Bruda made his way over to Viserion, the first of the three he had properly interacted with. He stroked the creamy white scales with a visible fondness.

   “Now aren’t you just beautiful,” he whispered, the great beast pushing its snout into his open hand. Each hot breath messed the warlock’s long hair up but he didn't care at that moment. Daenerys, meanwhile, took Shireen’s hand in her own and slowly led her over to the largest of the trio. Shireen’s feet didn't feel like they were working properly as she approached the dragon. She realised that her stories didn't do Drogon good service, thinking that he was more beautiful than any of the pictures she had seen. She marvelled at how all the scales fitted together to form an intricate pattern all over his body. When he turned his head to directly face her, she stopped, knowing that he was still a dangerous creature. Daenerys gave her an encouraging smile.

   “He won’t hurt you. He’s very smart and can see that you’re my friend. He doesn’t attack my friends.” Her reassuring words seemed to do the trick as Shireen took a few more steps closer before reaching her arm out, although her eyes were clamped tightly shut. After a few seconds of feeling his snout, she opened her eyes and began to smile. She turned to look at the other woman.

   “Thank you so very much,” she said sincerely with a smile. “It is a dream come true to see a dragon in real life.”

   “I’m sure there were more to your dreams. I bet you were just like me when I was your age. You wish to fly with them.”

***********

   Stannis paced his room, glowering as his thoughts darkened. He was currently considering what Davos had told him the night before. Daenerys Targaryen appeared to have a tight knit group of advisors, something that any leader would strive for. He himself had tried to forge a similar form of government and had had some success with acquiring Davos and Melisandre, although he could easily tell that there was some tension between them. For what reason, he didn't fully know. That meant he was envious of the supposedly harmonious atmosphere of his alliance’s administration. Yet he knew that, if he were able to break one of those connections she had, it could prove to be incredibly damaging to her potential campaign. He almost smiled at the very thought. He wondered how he would accomplish such a feat, thinking back to how quickly she had punished the traitor who had once been her closest confidante. Obviously she was quick to rile, so similar to the dragons she kept company with. It might be possible for him to sow the seeds of doubt in the near future but he knew that the majority of his sabotage would need to be done after the Great War against the White Walkers.

   Even then, there were multiple reasons why he had to be careful. For one, he needed her, and especially her large army, to increase his chances of taking the Iron Throne from his nephew. Those dragons of hers would be especially effective, he was sure of it. They’d be able to burn down the entire capital if they had to. If there was a way of getting Daenerys to trust him, then it was possible he’d have a say in how those beasts went about with their business.

   Yet that was the issue. If he wasn’t careful and tactical enough with his actions, then those very creatures would be turned on him. And he knew that he wouldn’t survive a fight against fire, even if he was the Prince that was Promised according to the Red Woman. That fact had almost slipped his mind in recent times. It made his life much more peaceful because he could watch everyone else slowly begin to descend into worry and sadness due to the looming threat of war whilst he had the comfort of knowing he wouldn’t die. The Lord of Light had practically said so. It was his duty to defeat the Night King, which meant none of the undead soldiers would be able to touch him. He wouldn’t make it obvious to his men of course. He’d still fight, do his bit. But he would be making his way to his destiny during all of it.

   He was going to be presented with the perfect opportunity to get close to Daenerys in the coming days. It was as if fate was on his side. That pesky old warlock, who seemed too confident in his own ability and knowing how capable he was of capturing an audience with his silky words, had practically begged to go to the Wall. If he wasn’t torn to shreds by the monsters up there, it was a good probability that his old age would finally catch up to him on the journey. Oh, and how upset she would be about his death. He’d soothe her and comfort her, all the while making sure that her trust in him grew. 

   Then there was the case of the knight, who Davos had said was her closest advisor. If he wanted to gain access to Daenerys properly, then he would have to navigate around the Mormont protector. Normally that would be a tricky and almost impossible task but, again, luck was on his side. How clever his Hand had been in suggesting a party, headed by the very knight that stood in Stannis’s way, travel to Bear Island to seek the help of the noble family there. All the stars were aligning in his favour.

   By the time he had finished plotting, Stannis was almost in a good mood. That changed when he heard a nearby ferocious roar. He immediately went to the window and looked to the sky, grey clouds beginning to form and group together. He knew that it had to be the dragons but he didn't understand why the commotion was happening now. Was something happening that he didn't know about? In his own castle and grounds, no less? If Daenerys was showing off the power she possessed then it would undermine the authority he had collated during his time at Winterfell. If that was true, she was apparently a worthy political opponent and a useful pawn in his game but it still infuriated him. A sour expression now returned to his face, he stormed from his room to get outside and confront them all. 

**********

   “Are you sure that this is a good idea?” The question came from Bruda as he looked at Daenerys with a concerned expression. When she had initially suggested it, he had thought that she was simply joking with them. But then he had seen the sincere look on her face and his hopes were dashed. She was now directing Shireen to Rhaegal, Davos closely following behind who was also hesitant about the new developments.

   “You sound like you’re scared of heights,” she joked back, brushing aside his worries with ease. That just annoyed him more and he looked over at Jorah for some support. Surely she would listen to him.

   “Can’t you get some sense into her?” he pleaded but the knight shrugged his soldiers.

   “When it comes to this, she knows what she’s doing,” he reasoned. 

   “But this is the daughter of her newly formed political ally. She won’t be able to sweet talk her way out of it when he finds his only child as a pile of mush on the floor.” He stopped and looked at the girl in question. “That won’t happen. Don’t listen to me.”

   “She’s flown with her dragons before now. She’ll be able to keep hold of the princess while they’re up there.” Daenerys gave him a confused look.

   “How? I’ll be on Drogon. With you. We’re all going up.” Jorah’s eyes widened.

   “All of us? There aren’t enough for us. The fourth dragon doesn’t usually interact with these lot.”

   “You can come with me. Davos will go with Shireen. And Bruda can have Viserion, since he is seemingly so attached to him.” The two of them knew that Davos wouldn’t disagree with the notion due to the look he was getting from the young child. “You’ll be fine. Very intelligent creatures. They wouldn’t dare let anything happen to you.”

   Bruda grumbled as he walked past Jorah and gave him a pointed look. “I hope you’re happy. And if I hear any screams emanating from your good self, I will use it against you for the rest of your life. However long that may be.” He patted him on the soldier as he made his way to the white dragon. Jorah turned to look at Drogon, uneasily staring into his eyes. He walked over and stroked the giant beast. He could remember how small he had been when he was first hatched. He would climb and scramble over his shoulders all the time, which would prompt laughter after the first time it happened. Now he towered over all over creatures and animals. And Daenerys wanted him to climb on his back as he soared through the air. How the tables had turned.

   After helping Davos and an incredibly excited Shireen onto Rhaegal, the dragon patiently waiting as they used multiple horns on his neck to climb up, Daenerys quietly walked up to her waiting knight. He was transfixed on Drogon for some reason. She gently placed a hand on his back as she stepped level with him. He startled at her touch.

   “Are you okay?” she asked softly, looking into his eyes. He gave a short nod after a moment, which gave her the go ahead to help him navigate his way onto the dragon’s back. She found it quite funny how cumbersome and awkward he looked as he straddled the neck. He didn't complain though when she slotted herself in front of him, the shape of her body fitting perfectly in the groove of his. Within seconds of them getting comfortable, Drogon was rising into the air. The other two copied his movement and shouts of glee could be heard from the vicinity of Rhaegal. Daenerys enjoyed the sound of Shireen’s joy almost as much as the laughter that could be heard over the noise of flapping wings coming from Bruda. He obviously had quickly gotten over his tentativeness. 

   All three dragons now in the air, Drogon led the way, picking up speed quickly as they descended into the canyon. The gaps were just wide enough for him to pass through with his wings fully stretched out but Daenerys could tell Jorah was still nervous about the tight fit. His hands were almost painfully clenching hers. The rare sign of vulnerability made her smile but she wanted him to enjoy it too. She ordered her dragon to fly upwards so that they were free from the rocky scenery, now gliding through the air. He seemed to relax at this, sitting up a bit more than previously. Viserion was soon level with them and they looked over at the warlock, his brown and grey hair blowing wildly in the wind.

   “You call that flying?” he shouted over to them as Viserion picked up speed to inch ahead of them. Bruda, waving his staff in a large circle whilst he clung on to the scales with his other hand, produced a golden circle in the air that his dragon passed through with a roar. Not wanting to lose such a blatant challenge, Daenerys patted Drogon on his neck and he flapped his wings twice to push air behind him. He easily went ahead of Viserion, much to the audible disappointment of Bruda. The excitement had even prompted Jorah to relax slightly, although she could tell he was trying his hardest not to look down at the ground. She looked back and saw Rhaegal in the near distance, Davos obviously attempting to take things slower than them with Shireen as a passenger.

   She noticed, surprisingly, that they had left the snowy landscape behind and were nearing the castle of Winterfell. She hadn’t planned to bring them so close to the settlement, wanting to make their little adventure a bit more private, but it was obvious that she could only control the dragons so much. She didn't care though as she settled into the touch of Jorah’s hands on her sides as they watched the sky go by. All three beasts were dancing in the clouds now, going in between visibility as if they were playing a game. She laughed as she watched this happen, thinking to herself that this was probably one of the first truly happy and peaceful memories she had made. She vowed to make more once the war was won. She realised, after questioning so often why she was here, that this was the reason why she was fighting.

**********

   After enough time in the sky, they landed just outside of the open gates of Winterfell. Not unexpectedly, a small crowd had formed, obviously attracted by the sight of three fully grown dragons weaving their way through the ever increasing cloud cover. When they were off the beasts, who immediately took flight once again to return to their hideout, Shireen instantly took off in a run towards Daenerys. She gave her a tight hug, thankful that a fantasy of hers had been realised that day. The woman was quick to brush over her gratitude, stating that she wanted more people, just like her, to realise that her dragons were not monsters. Shireen then ran back to Davos, walking with them as they neared the castle. Daenerys looked over to the two men by her side. 

   “You didn't fall off,” she pointed out to the both of them. Bruda simply rolled his eyes at her comment, although he still wore an excited smile on his face. “Maybe I’m disappointed. Maybe I intended for that to happen, warlock.” The man in question dismissed that point with a laugh.

   “You’re more clever than that. If you wanted me dead, you’d have found an easier way to do it already.” Sadly, for Daenerys, it brought back memories of their conversation the day before and she felt wrong joking about a topic that worried her so much. Sensing her new sadness, he tried to lighten the situation by goading her. “I think you’re just jealous that I was better at flying than you.” Her eyes widened as she looked aghast. Jorah gave him a worried look.

   “You’re in for it now,” he whispered as he began to walk away, not wanting to be there when Daenerys exploded at the warlock. One thing he knew that would rile her up was questioning her ability with her dragons. And Bruda knew that too.  _ Clever. _ All he could hear in this distance as he got further away was the queen begin with an indignant “How dare you?”. His smile faded as he made it to the entrance to the courtyard, where the crowd had dispersed. The only people there were Davos and Shireen, along with Stannis, who looked as furious as Jorah had ever seen him. It was obvious that he was the one who had made the rabble leave. He heard snippets of a conversation taking place between the trio.

   “What was going through your mind Seaworth?” Stannis asked angrily. He had taken Shireen and placed her by his side, a protective arm around her shoulders. She looked worriedly at the man under fire.

   “You know as well as I do that she has a fascination with dragons and stories along those lines. I thought it would be a treat for her to see one of them up close.”

   “See a fire breathing, uncontrollable monster up close? I have the right mind to label you insane. And don’t think I didn't see you all up there. Whose idea was it to suggest that you take my daughter, presumably against her will, in the sky on one of those creatures?” Stannis was seething, his words bit out tersely. Davos hesitated and Jorah shook his head when he answered.

   “It was...mine, your Grace. There was no danger according to the Queen but I will still ask for your forgiveness.” He bowed his head slightly but Stannis gave a bitter laugh.

   “No danger? Oh, of course not. A fall from that height wouldn’t do her any harm.”

   “It wasn’t ser Davos’s fault,” Shireen pleaded with her father. “I practically begged him to let me see them since he is friends with Queen Daenerys.” That only made Stannis’s expression darken further.

   “He is my advisor, first and foremost. Not her  _ friend.”  _ He spat out the word.  _ “ _ And I would hope that any of my advisors would have better thought than to agree to such an escapade. I wonder if you are still up to the job?” He looked intently at the sorrowful man.

   “Is something the matter?” The question came from the gates, where Daenerys and Bruda stood. They shared the same expression, looking unimpressed at the interaction going on in front of them. Stannis stopped himself from answering straight away, not wanting to say anything that would be politically costly. Daenerys arched an eyebrow at his apparent hesitation.

   “No...your  _ Grace,” _ he eventually said through gritted teeth. He then took a step closer to Davos so that he could whisper in his ear. “Don’t think for one moment that your new group of associates will keep you safe. By the time the war is over, they will all be long dead if I’m lucky. And, as for you, stay away from my daughter. If I catch you anywhere near her again, I won’t be so lenient in my punishment.” He was about to walk away before he thought of one last thing to add. “It’s time you faced reality, Davos. Pick a side. The man who will be king or the woman who is doomed to fall victim to the flames she so loves.” With that, he left, dragging a distraught Shireen with him. Davos’s shoulders slumped. The others made their way over to him so he made sure to compose himself.

   “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said to them, doing well to keep his voice even. Daenerys looked sadly at him.

   “I should be the one who is apologising. It was all my idea that we do this. I could go speak to Stannis and explain the situation.” He held out a placating hand.

   “I don’t think he’s in any mood to listen to anyone right now. And it was initially my suggestion. You didn't have to agree to it but you granted me a favour. And I’m extremely grateful for that. The look of wonder and happiness on her face was worth anything he can give out. If you’ll excuse me. Your Grace, gentlemen.” He nodded his head to them before walking off into the castle.


	29. Forwards and Backwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorah and Bruda set off on separate journeys that may determine the fate of the war

A  tense atmosphere had rightly settled over Winterfell after the confrontation between Stannis and Davos. The latter had spent the rest of the day in his room, not accepting any visitors. Both Bruda and Jorah had tried on multiple occasions due to the constant nagging from Daenerys but they failed every time. It was a fortunate thing then that they were leaving as the sun rose in the morning since Davos would have to leave his sanctuary of isolation. With a chilly air sweeping through the courtyard, two small groups were preparing themselves for their respective journeys. Jorah, clad in much thicker clothes than usual in preparation for the dropping temperatures, scanned his party of people, a collective of no more than five Unsullied soldiers. Davos trudged over to him, giving him a curt nod in greeting. It was more than he expected after the events of the previous day. 

   “Ready for the long journey?” he asked, hoping to start a conversation at least.

   “The timing is a blessing. But don’t get it into your head that I’ll be moping all the way there. We’ve got a job to do after all.” Jorah smirked at him, glad that his demeanour had improved slightly. He had seen how close he was with Shireen so could only imagine the tumult of emotions going through his head right now.

   “You’re right about that. I just have a feeling that something is bound to go wrong.”

   “The curse of being a Northerner. Always programmed to be negative.”

Across the open space, the other group was getting ready. It was larger than the band of people heading to Bear Island although it was composed of wildling men instead of Unsullied soldiers. Mance had explained that, since they were going to the top of the North, they needed men who had experienced such a cold before. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be able to fight to their full capability. That was the other reason for them having a larger number of bodies. They were more likely to be attacked, a point that Bruda was trying his best to put at the back of his mind as he surveyed his men. The trio of Sandor Clegane, Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr were busy finishing packing their rucksacks, the majority of which would be carried by the largest of them. Mance was waiting surprisingly patiently as he sat on a nearby wall, whilst Tormund kept trying to get Ghost to play fetch with various items with little or no success. It was the first time Bruda had seen the direwolf, Tormund explaining to him that the large creature had gone off for a month into the surrounding area during the time Jon was away. He could tell that he was an incredibly intelligent creature but also an imposing one. An extra bit of protection for them all if the worst happened on their trip.

   “You know there is no chance of him playing that game with you.” Bruda was surprised to hear that voice. Jon approached them, carrying a large bag and wearing a thick cloak, smiling at the frustrated look on the wildling’s face. Tormund through a stick in the general direction of the newcomer but it was easily dodged.

   “He’ll learn one day,” came the gruff reply. “Everyone needs some down time, even a great fuckin’ big monster like him.” Jon was too busy scratching the back of the  _ monster’s _ ear to fully take in what the ginger man was saying this time. It had served him well since knowing him to tune him out most of the time. It wasn’t as easy though to ignore the stare being sent by the old warlock. Jon looked down in embarrassment, a common occurrence ever since he met him, as he walked over to Bruda.

   “Snow,” came the short greeting as Bruda raised his eyebrows in question at his arrival. “I thought you were against my reasoning for this expedition. I presumed that meant you would not be joining us.”

   “I’ve had some time to think about it and reconsider my previous decision. You’ve said it plenty of times before. This is war. We can’t afford to risk ourselves on the off chance that people we don’t know are still alive. It’s the harsh reality.” Bruda hummed sadly at the realisation. He only wished that someone as young as Jon didn't need to understand such a dreadful concept.

   “We will still make sure to go through East Watch. Just on the off chance that a miracle has happened and there are survivors.” He winked at Jon as the young man perked up at his words. “I persuaded Mance to direct us through there. He seems to know a lot about the place, as if he targeted it a lot when he was king.”

   “Thank you,” Jon said sincerely. Bruda merely nodded and set off ensuring he was ready for the journey too.

   It was at that moment when Daenerys entered the courtyard alone. They had considered the possibility that Stannis would send them off as well since it would be the right thing to do, at least politically. His absence would go a long way in telling his men and Daenerys’s where his gratitude lay. She immediately went over to Jorah, enveloping him in a tight hug to act as a lasting memory. She pulled away after a few seconds, sending a small smile to Davos.

   “Be careful,” she commanded, brokering no argument from either of them. 

   “We will,” Jorah said, trying to placate her. He knew it would probably do no good but it was worth the try. “We’re not the ones potentially facing a horde of the undead.”

   “Don’t remind me. I wish none of you were leaving me. Especially with Stannis acting the way he is.”

   “He can’t touch you. You’ve got plenty of guards. He won’t want to go anywhere near a Dothraki.” She smirked at his levity. “You don’t even need to interact with him at all if you don’t want to until we get back. It shouldn’t be a long journey.”

   “It better not be.” She cupped his cheek as she bid him farewell. “Come back to me.”

   “I always do.” A response that had so many meanings and feelings behind it. It spoke of his devotion to her. It reminded her of how, even when she had banished him, he had returned to her. It conveyed the love they shared.

   She made the quick trip to send off her favourite warlock. He looked lively, probably excited about having an adventure. She needed to bring him back down so that he didn't take any risks on their travels.

   “Ah, Daenerys. I just spotted you saying farewell to your knight and was becoming jealous that I was going to miss out on the same treatment.” She shook her head but still hugged him, which surprised him a little. He awkwardly patted her back, sending a helpful look to Jon, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

   “As if I would forget you.” She untangled herself from the older man. “I needed to give you something anyway.” He gave her a confused look as she produced a small metal object from somewhere on her person. He looked at it closely and realised that it was a miniature version of his staff but, unlike his actual one, a dragon was wrapped around it. The usual flames that licked the top of his staff had been replaced by the fire of that dragon. It was a deep black in colour but somehow it had been made with a streak of blue and gold running through it. She gently placed it in his hand and covered it with his fingers. “I said I needed to get you a badge. I had one of the metalworkers here take some time off from making dragonglass weapons to commission this for you. I realised that Jorah has been wearing clothes that symbolise his position in my regime but you still didn't have anything. Now you can wear that and people will know how much I value you.” She swore that she could see a few unshed tears in his eyes but she made no comment. “You see the different colours? I’ve been doing what you asked me and looking over our previous conversations. I remember you talking about how the colour of your magic can change. This represents that phenomenon. 

   “It’s magnificent. I...am very grateful, your Grace.” It was unusual to hear him refer to her in such a dignified manner. “I shall protect it with my life.”

   “The whole point of it is to show you that I’d rather you come back to me alive.” He chuckled and vowed that he would try his hardest to do so. The gates were drawn open, signalling that it was time for them to leave. They jumped up on to their horses, or in Bruda’s case, clambered on and set off, hoping that they would return soon with some positive news.

**********

   Jorah was wondering how the horses were coping with the difficult terrain they were being tasked to face. It was unlike having the King’s road to the capital - very few people travelled this way towards the coast which meant that the tracks were in an incredibly poor condition. With winter now looming over them, they were quickly becoming trails of mud and rock. He was glad that he didn't have to walk on this journey but still felt like apologising to his steed.

   They had been travelling for a couple of days now and he felt like they were getting close to the small ship that was supposedly waiting for them to carry them to Bear Island. He really hoped that the journey would be worthwhile in the end but an overwhelming sense of unease had settled upon him from the moment this idea was suggested. It had been a long time since he had been anywhere near his ancestral home. He expected it would be quite different now. They would have moved on from the times he had lived there in ways that he felt he might not understand or grasp. It worried him then that any sway he might have in persuading the young Mormont in power was negligible. He was an outcast. He would be looked down upon in all likelihood. He wondered whether this was as great an idea as Daenerys and Stannis thought.

   “I know that look.” Davos had brought his horse next to Jorah’s so that they could ride side by side whilst they talked. “Self pity. Self doubt. You’re worried about what sort of greeting you’ll receive when we arrive.”

   “I’m not bothered about my own interests. I sacrificed any claim to that when I left Westeros. I’m more concerned that my being there will lessen the chances of us succeeding. It’s vital that we get more men before the White Walkers arrive. It’s already a probability that we will be outnumbered massively. We have to take any opportunity we can to greaten our chances.”

   “You’re of course correct. But you’re forgetting that Bear Island is a small place. The amount of men we will be given won’t change the course of the battle.”

   “Then why are we doing this?” Jorah sounded exasperated.

   “Because of what you just said. It may not be a lot of people but any help we can get is a positive step in our favour. But you can’t waste the time you have left being troubled by the thoughts of others. You have to realise that the people you will see and interact with on the island are no longer your family. You’re lucky enough to have forged a new one.” There was a sadness in his eyes as he finished his sentence, something that Jorah picked up on straight away.

   “You’re just as lucky then,” he pointed out but Davos just gave a hollow bark of laughter in response.

   “I think I’m losing my grasp on a new family, Mormont. Especially with Stannis’s warning.” The days in between the encounter had allowed Davos the time to examine what had happened, meaning that he was able to talk about it a bit more openly. Jorah saw that as a good sign but he knew the hurt still lingered within his comrade.

   “She still cares for you. Stannis has no control over that and can’t change that fact.”

   “He can control whether I get to see her though. And with us getting closer to the war, I feel that the opportunities I have to do so are dwindling.”

   “You just have to be more tactical then. Stannis isn’t able to monitor her all the time, which gives you the chance to see her, if only briefly. I’m sure we can help with that.” That idea seemed to cheer Davos up slightly and he sat up a bit straighter.

   “I might just do that. But Daenerys will be a bit too preoccupied to help an old soul like me see someone I care about.”

   “You have to realise that you’re a part of our strange family now. She cares about you and would do anything for you. Within reason, of course.” Davos smirked at the response.

   “Doesn’t care for me nearly as much as you though,” he said with a knowing smile. Jorah focused on looking straight ahead instead of at the twinkling pair of eyes next to him. He’d obviously been learning from Bruda. Even when he wasn’t around, he was still managing to infuriate him.

   “Like you said - I’m very lucky.”

   “Aye. To find love in times like these is a very special thing. My wife won’t know whether I’m dead or alive. Won’t comprehend my involvement in a war I hope she never has to learn about. But I’m content in the knowledge that she is safe and not involved in any of this.”

   “I wish I could say the same about Daenerys. But she will be in the centre of this and then, if we get through it, we only have another conflict to face. Sometimes I wonder whether we could just walk away from it all. Travel back to Essos and live out our lives there.”

   “You know more than anyone else that she would never choose to do that. You can’t stand in the way of her goals.”

   Jorah sighed. “I came to that realisation fairly quickly. Doesn’t make it any less disconcerting.”

   “It just means you have to work harder to protect her and to ensure you survive the fight. That’s why we’re on our way to do what we’re doing. Not just to attempt to bolster our numbers but to try and make it as difficult as possible for us to lose. And for that to happen, we have to be unified. Which is why I hope Stannis will come around by the time we get back.” Jorah wanted that to happen too but, as they reached the ship resting on the calm water, he knew that they had more important things to worry about for now.

**********

   Similar progress was being made by the other larger group and, luckily for them, their journey was mainly marked out by a long road connecting Winterfell to the Northern outpost. That meant their travels were somewhat more comfortable although Bruda was beginning to grow concerned about the subject of saddle sores. Because of that, he had discreetly conjured up a thin cushion that he could sit on. It had made an immediate improvement, both to his comfort and his overall attitude, and he was thankful that no one had seen him do it. He didn't know whether the others would be jealous and ask for one themselves, which would have been so much effort for the warlock, or mocking of his apparent weakness. He reasoned that, if they did so, he’d demonstrate how wrong they were. They’d definitely need more than a pillow after that.

   Ghost, emerging from the thick collection of trees by the side of the road, charged past him, probably smelling some poor animal that would soon be his lunch. The appearance of the direwolf made Bruda’s horse grow nervous and he struggled to keep it from bucking up. His mood was worsened when he heard Jon and Tormund laughing behind him. He turned his head sharply and Jon was quick to make his expression more neutral. Tormund, obviously not caring about the wrath of the mage, continued to smile in the face of Bruda’s ire. He clenched a fist as he stopped himself from twirling his ginger beard around his neck. It was safe to say that the long journey was making Bruda slightly irritable.

   “The horses never grow accustomed to him,” Jon pointed out as he brought his horse level with Bruda’s. The warlock, attempting to be petty, tried looking as though he hadn’t noticed Ghost’s sudden arrival. “You did well to stay on your horse.” It was worded like a compliment but his tone, with a hint of humour in it, suggested otherwise. Bruda wanted to say that Jon would do well to stay on  _ his  _ horse if he carried on making such remarks. He didn't say that though.

   “You forget that I am a Northerner,” he reminded the younger man. “And more experienced than you ever will be.” Jon laughed at the attempt at a rebute.

   “I don’t doubt that for one second.” He looked at the man riding by his side for a moment with clear curiosity. “You said you’re from the North...but where exactly? I’ve never thought to ask you.” Bruda kept his focus on what lay ahead of them as they rode but his expression had saddened at the question.

   “It’s not here anymore. You might say it was simply a casualty of war.” Jon was wishing that he hadn’t asked the question now.

   “I’m sorry to hear that.”

   “Oh don’t be. It was a very long time ago. I’ve moved on, which is a sad enough notion on its own. The kingdom was a volatile place at the time and my home wasn’t the only place to crumble in the wake of power hungry tyrants. You were lucky enough to grow up when a relative peace had settled. But it is a continuous cycle between stability and chaos. That wheel keeps turning so here we are.” He smirked but his usual exuberance wasn’t there for once.

   “But you got out of there in time.” Bruda knew that it was an innocent statement but he couldn’t shake the feeling of there being an accusatory tone.

   “I walked through it after it was left as a pile of steaming rubble. That’s when I left. When there was nothing else I could do.”

   “Is that why you’re so adamant on doing this now? To make up for that defeat? There’s no real reason why you should be here, I don’t think. You left the kingdom behind yet you return with her when it’s brought to its knees again.”

   “Oh Jon. There is every need in the world for me to be here. And you’ll see why soon. Don’t, for one second, presume that I am here out of a nonsensical sense of pride.”

   “I never said that.”

   “You’re naive. It’s only to be expected since you’re so young but I would have thought better of you. Words are just one component of someone’s message. You have to delve deep into what their tone tells you.”

   “Have you ever thought to not talk down to me?” There was a sudden anger and annoyance in his voice that surprised Bruda. This is what he wanted to see.

   “I might consider it once you’ve proven to me that you’re worth the while. Currently, I see only a soldier who is bothered with black and white of war. Who fails to take note of the complexities that surround us.” He was making a breakthrough.

   “Of course I do!” Jon was properly riled up now.

   “Then answer your own question. Why are we partaking on this journey?” 

   “The Wall. You said that something was important about it.”

   “Keep going.”

   “The Night’s Watch would have seen straight away if there was something wrong with the Wall. Since we were right next to it.”

   “Meaning?”

   “Whatever is happening to it, or has happened to it, is...going on on the other side of it.”

   “Or even within it. You got there in the end. I’m not going to be here forever but even when I am, my job isn’t to just explain everything to you. You need to be able to work these things out. Although I’ll still add parts to the equation. Don’t want you to suffer.”

   “So...all that before. It was to…”

   “Make you angry. Make you feel that you didn't require me to tell you what is what. And it worked quite spectacularly. Maybe I’ll make some progress with you after all.” Bruda patted his horse on the neck, prompting it to pick up its pace as he moved away from the dumbfounded Stark. The warlock wanted him to figure things out on his own and he wondered whether that was a hint to something more personal. He definitely had secrets but what did the mage hide the closest? He continued on his own horse, thinking over this apparent dilemma. East Watch would soon be upon them.

**********

   Bear Island, the home for centuries of the Mormont family, was not a very hospitable place. Freezing temperatures, thick and dark forests and an incredibly rocky terrain made it a difficult second leg to their journey. It hadn’t taken long to reach the island on the boat through the Bay of Ice and now they were making their way to the large wooden keep that acted as the main focal point of the island. The horses were left on the beach with one of their men. There would be no way that they’d be able to tackle the steep paths that would direct them to their destination.

   It had barely changed in Jorah’s viewpoint. It was a relatively poor area, meaning that it would be difficult to bring about any meaningful change. That would be doubly apparent with winter on the way. The people of Bear Island were a strong but stubborn collective. They would much rather suffer than ask for help. Those ideals had been bred into him from a young age but he hoped that his time with Daenerys, and even Bruda, was changing that.

   When they had arrived at the scarce shore, they were met by an imposing, large man who said he was there to guide them through the wild landscape. Davos had whispered to Jorah asking whether he was actually there to pick them off one by one. He definitely looked like he could do that. He was a hairy man, you could see that from looking at the little bit of arm that wasn’t covered by thick clothing. Luckily for him, Jorah didn’t think that he had recognised him. The last thing he needed was to be asked invasive questions by people from his past. Thankfully, he didn't think their guide was a man of many words. The most they had been able to get out of him so far was a series of differently accentuated grunts. He guessed Daenerys had also made him slightly more eloquent and cordial.

   Davos pulled back a particularly large tree branch back to reveal the view up ahead. A river, with multiple smaller streams running off it, snaked itself around the rocks. A wooden bridge that didn't seem to be in the best condition connected the two banks and a path on the other side led to the building they were headed for. Compared to Winterfell, and especially Dragonstone, it wasn’t as foreboding a place as one might expect. Yet Jorah hadn’t expected to be put off by the exterior of the place; what lay inside was the troubling matter to him. 

   At the large doors, two guards were stood waiting for them with neutral expressions on their faces. They eyed the Unsullied soldiers with thinly veiled suspicion but said nothing as they allowed them entry. Their guide left them at this point with no meaningful farewell apart from another loud grunt. Inside the keep, silence reigned. Their footsteps echoed against the stone corridor as they were led through the dimly lit passage. The two of them shared a worried look as they were made to stop outside another set of doors, two torches either side making it visible to them. Jorah put his hand on it for a moment before pushing it open.

   The large room was surprisingly empty. They had expected to be made to a face a council of sorts but they were instead met with the lone figure of a young girl sitting at a long table at the far end of the room. She stood up as they entered but did not move away from her position. It was a sign of superiority in this situation over them. The doors closed behind them, with the room worryingly absent of their own guards. They continued walking towards the table and, as they got close enough, they knelt on the stone floor in a show of respect. It didn't seem to impress the girl who kept a passive expression on her face.

   “My Lords,” she began. “I’m hoping the journey wasn’t a perilous one.” Jorah wondered if the journey was going to the best bit about this task. 

   “My Lady,” Davos spoke up after glancing at his partner. “Our travels went as smoothly as we hoped, in part thanks to the guide you graciously sent us on our arrival. First of all, I must share our gratitude for allowing us to visit you. These are troubling times, as I’m sure you can appreciate, and we fully understand the pressing matters you need to see to in order to keep your island going.” You could tell that Davos was a good diplomat from the way he was speaking - Jorah was suitably impressed.

   “I don’t have time for niceties. Seeing as, how did you put it? I have more pressing matters to attend to. If that’s the case, then I am left to wonder why you are taking up part of my time if the situation isn’t that serious.” Maybe not a good enough diplomat after all.

   “We can’t downplay how serious the situation we are facing is,” Jorah said, speaking for the first time. She eyed him carefully and held out a hand to stop him from talking, which he did straight away.

   “You’re the Mormont I’ve been told about. The betrayer of my family. My advisor has mentioned you a lot in his briefings.”

   “Is your advisor going to be joining us at some point?” Jorah asked, glossing over the accusations she had made. As if on cue, a side door opened suddenly and a slender man walked through, dressed in fine clothes that didn't suit the island he was currently on. He stepped over to the young girl and planted a gentle kiss on her hand.

   “I must apologise for my tardiness, Lady Mormont,” he said with a smirk, his trimmed beard shifting slightly. Jorah didn't like the look of him at all. He turned to them and gave them a small smile. “I won’t make the Lady introduce me, gentlemen. My name is Petyr Baelish.”


	30. Failure and Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorah and Davos attempt to circumnavigate Littlefinger's presence. Meanwhile, the understanding of the White Walkers' capabilities is changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another important chapter! We're getting close to the big battle. Show your appreciation by leaving a quick (or long) message

The name certainly resonated with Davos as he tried to remember where, when or why he would have heard of Petyr Baelish. Jorah looked just as confused, with the man in question looking at them with shifty eyes. He was stood there as if he was waiting for them to recognise him. Davos wracked his brain, thinking back to past conversations with Stannis. It soon became clearer to him as he remembered the planning they did before the failed attempt at taking Kings Landing. Baelish had been a key councillor in the capital, so notorious that Stannis has pointed out his usefulness to the king. The man who practically controlled the dark underbelly of political power and usurpation. So why was he now working for a young girl on an isolated island?

   “You go by another name, don’t you? Littlefinger,” Davos said, the first words either of them had spoken since Baelish’s entrance. The man bowed his head, as if he was ashamed of the nickname but they could see that smirk once again light up his face.

   “A simple moniker thought up by my contemporaries.”

   “As in the people who you used to work with back in King’s Landing?” 

   “You’ve heard of my work then?” That fact seemed to delight him. He was putting Jorah at unease since he still didn't really know who this man was. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, now more acutely aware of the fact that their men had been left outside of the chamber.

   “Not by my own volition,” Davos countered. There was a flicker on Littlefinger’s face - a crack in his facade. “I’m curious as to why you left such a high position there. Was it your own choice?”

   “I left there because the king no longer represented my needs. I had to protect my young charge in the Eyrie, small Robert Arryn, but, when his...untimely passing came, I was driven out by the very men who had sworn to protect him.” He didn't show any remorse whatsoever. “You speak as if you know me, Davos Seaworth.” Again that smirk as Davos’s eyes widened. “Well, I know of you of course. My people do like to witter on about the goings on in the kingdom. You’re still working for Stannis Baratheon yet are now aligning yourself with more power hungry usurpers.” He made a point of looking at Jorah as he said this. 

   “My alliances have nothing to do with the meeting we are meant to be having. Why don’t we bring our conversation back on track?”

   “In actual fact, it is good for me to see how fickle your alliances are,” Lyanna said. “It doesn’t fill me with confidence if I am to trust you or support your campaign.”

   “In all honesty, your Grace, this is not my campaign. It is no one’s campaign. It is war.”

   “A war is the result of a campaign. It is a way of one person defeating another, isn’t it?”

   “In most cases, yes,” Jorah spoke up. “But this is not the usual situation.”

   “Oh he speaks!” Littlefinger exclaimed with amusement, his eyes lighting up.

   “Why don’t you enlighten us on this supposed situation then,” Lyanna proposed, still not impressed by these two men. This was what they had not been looking forward to - trying to explain the insanity that faced them. Jorah looked pleadingly at Davos, wanting him to take over.

   “Er...Lady Mormont, we plead for your allegiance in the greatest war we as a kingdom will ever face. The need to fight for our survival transcends the barriers of historical partnerships between houses. We must all band together if we are to defeat them.”

   “Defeat who?”

   “The dead. You might know them as White Walkers. We have men who have already faced them and barely escaped with their lives. They will soon be upon us and we ask for your support so that we stand a reasonable chance of winning.”

   Baelish had been holding in his laughter but, as Davos finished, he finally let out a hollow chuckle. “Your claims are preposterous. I haven’t been here long but already know that these creatures are simply monsters woven into Northern tales to make children scared. There is no feasible way in which my Lady would hand over her protectors down to only the unsupported stories you say.”

   “If we were lying, how would you explain the houses of Baratheon and Targaryen joining together in the North?” Jorah countered. It was Lyanna who responded vehemently.

   “I’d go as far as saying they were forming an alliance to take on the Crown. Especially since you say the House of Baratheon is involved in this nonsense yet the King, a member of such family, remains in the South. If you were speaking the truth, wouldn’t he have joined you in this fight?” She had a good point and had backed them into a corner.

   “My Lady…”

   “I haven’t finished,” she interrupted immediately. “It also highlights another pressing matter. As far as I am aware, House Mormont does not come running to the cries of Baratheons or Targaryens. We know only one King in the North and that is a Stark.”

   “The Starks stand with us,” Davos pointed out.

   “You say this as if it’s a truth when you know it is not. The Stark house is currently without a head. We have no reason to drop everything for you or your pretend rulers.” They were fighting a losing battle.

   “I spoke with Lady Mormont before your arrival,” Littlefinger commented. “And explained to her the lies you would sprout once you got here. It is clear to me that you have been given your answer.” He turned to Lyanna, who nodded her head.

   “I appreciate you travelling such a long way but surely you should have known what the outcome of your visit would be. My duty is to protect my people, not sacrifice them for a cause we have no part in.” They didn't even try to argue, just bowing their heads and turning to walk out of the room. Littlefinger caught up to them as they reached the door and he leant close to both their heads.

   “Send my regards to sweet Sansa.”

**********

   The snow crunched under their tough boots as they walked the final leg to their destination. The general consensus had been to leave their horses at the edge of the settlement, not wanting them to get involved if an ambush did occur. A common feeling of dreaded anticipation had settled amongst them as they tentatively progressed further. East Watch was just up ahead, icy waves crashing against its jagged shores, and right behind it was the Wall. A menacing image that dwarfed the castle and them considerably. It wasn’t easy to get to on foot, something that was said to have been done on purpose. This was the edge of the kingdom’s only protection against the horrors that lay waiting in the wilderness. What concerned the group that no lights were on, no fires lit. It felt cold, colder than it should have. The little hope they had felt of finding anyone was quickly being diminished.

   They carried on regardless, Bruda leading the way, focusing now more on the Wall. Something was drawing him to it and he didn't know what that feeling was down to. He was the first to reach the building that had stood there undefeated for so long. Yet now it seemed that it had inevitably lost against an unknown force. Bruda lay a hand on the stone foundations, getting no sense of warmth from it at all. Even in its precarious location, with the winds which were bringing a horrendous cold on them attacking it constantly, it shouldn’t have felt so...icy. 

   “It’s like what we told you, Snow,” Mance Rayder murmured in his deep, unforgiving voice. “No one can hold out against them forever. We’re too late, by a long time as well, I suspect.”

   “Did anyone here really have any fucking hope we’d find anyone?” Clegane argued with his usual temper. “We’ll be lucky to even find any bodies according to what I’ve been told about...them.”

   “Maybe they’re inside,” suggested Jon, still holding on to the last remaining bit of hope he had. Bruda gave him a solemn look and shook his head in the negative.

   “There haven’t been any people alive here for a long time. We knew this would be the case and it’s not the reason we travelled this far.” He started walking again, setting off around the castle as it looked like the fastest route to get up close and personal with the Wall. Mance fell into step with the warlock, the latter giving the former a cursory look as they stepped through the ever deepening snow.

   “You said that you knew this place,” Bruda said, starting a conversation that had been nagging at him for a while. “Yet I know fully well you were based primarily on the other side of this wall. So how come you have such a good knowledge about it?”

   Mance chuckled. “You can see that the Wall ends just up over there. It’s a perilous journey to traverse the side of it, especially with the waves constantly trying to get you, but that meant it wasn’t heavily guarded. If we needed food or any random resources, we’d send a few men over to...discreetly take what we needed.”

   “A defence always has a weakness,” Bruda spoke quietly. 

   “Yes, but we were the only ones who knew about it really. I doubt the men stationed here realised that anyone could pass by the side of it. They didn't know how desperate we were at times.”

   “How many of your men knew about this?”

   “I mean...it was common knowledge across our whole community. It gave ma people hope, you know what I mean? Proving to them that the people we fought against had weaknesses. That we could defeat them...eventually.” The Wall was getting closer with each step but they could still see the very top of the giant construction. It was unnerving for all of them to feel so tiny and insignificant. 

   “What are you planning on doing when we get right up to it?” It was Beric Dondarrion who asked the question, catching up to them as they traversed the rocky and slippery landscape. The two of them had barely spoken and the warlock was keen to get to know him. He seemed like an interesting and mysterious man, something they obviously shared in common.

   “I don’t really know. Maybe something will jump out at us. Hopefully, nothing life threatening or intent on attacking us. There is something about this Wall that is screaming at me. There must be something about it that made you come with us too.”

   “The Lord of Light works in strange ways,” he answered obscurely. “He more takes an interest in you than in anything that could be here. So it seemed only logical for us to follow you here.” Personally, Bruda did not believe in the nonsense that was the Lord of Light but he was polite enough to not voice his views out loud. At least right in front of Beric and the creepy Thoros.

   “You’re putting your life at risk just because I might have some almighty purpose. And that’s logical?” He tried his best to keep the skepticism out of his voice, failing miserably but the other man didn't seem to mind too much.

   “I have been brought back from death several times now. Therefore, I am able to freely do what the Lord needs me to do without the fear of the ultimate sacrifice. If I am to die, then there will be a good reasoning behind that outcome.”

   “I wish we were all that lucky. There’s a lot of good men here. Most won’t survive what’s to come.”

   “You can’t feasibly try and save us all. It just isn’t possible.”

   “I can damn well try,” came the blunt response as they trudged away.

**********

   Daenerys had grown bored rather quickly after her two favourite people had left the castle grounds. There simply wasn’t any entertainment with them gone. She hated herself for that mindset, knowing how everyone must be feeling, waiting for the inevitable onslaught to happen. Yet she felt useless, simply sitting in her room doing nothing productive. After one day of doing just that, she had realised she needed to do something with her time and so had walked down to the underbelly of Winterfell where the metalworkers were busy forging weapons and shields that would hopefully help protect them when war ensued. She had obviously been down here before when she had asked for Bruda’s gift to be made for a reasonable sum of money. She had thought it best not to tell the warlock she had paid for it to be crafted, otherwise he would have tried giving it her back or gone on a rant about how it was a waste of her precious resources. She both loved and despised his stubbornness, so similar to Jorah. More than they cared to admit. 

   She had felt that it was her duty to just show the workers that their efforts were appreciated. She highly doubted that Stannis had been doing the same. He was a different kind of ruler to her, which was the reason why tensions had begun to grow between them, even before they had had a proper, meaningful discussion alone together. She hoped that day would never come. She went around the steaming hot room, dressed in fewer clothes than she normally did in the castle due to the extreme temperatures, talking to the odd person she stumbled across. They’d discuss what work they were doing and sometimes she’d be allowed to hold a newly formed sword or dagger. That was the case for the men who acknowledged her. Many of Stannis’ men focused entirely on their work instead of the conversations she was trying to start. She understood why they did it - she was a foreign entity to them. Someone who didn't belong. No one was brave enough to say it though. Probably because she had a trio of dragons at her beck and call.

   She was wandering around the large room when a voice broke her out of her concentration. She looked around for a moment before spotting the small man approaching her. 

   “Lord Tyrion,” she said with a warm smile, surprised at his appearance down there. By the look on his face, he was equally as shocked. 

   “May I ask what you’re doing down here? I should have been the first to know if you had taken up metal forging.”

   “You’d go to such lengths if you were as bored as I,” she responded. “Since the departures the other day, I have had no one to hold a conversation with.” Tyrion looked down at the floor guiltily at her comment, knowing he was in part to blame for that. He should have made more of an effort even if he had been incredibly busy lately. 

   “You must learn how to be able to talk to oneself, my Queen,” he quipped. “It has helped me past many an hour. Mainly those spent in a cell.”

   “Hopefully I am not put in such a predicament. I must ask, what are you doing down here as well?”

   “Do you not see me as a man who has the strength to create metal swords and other weapons?” He pouted slightly, which amused her greatly. “I saw you venture down here, as a matter of fact. You didn't exactly make your journey discreet, walking straight through the courtyard.”

   “I wasn’t under the impression that I had to hide where I went whilst we were here.” Her voice darkened at the hidden implications. 

   “You must always be careful. With so many people crammed into one place, there are numerous eyes watching all the time. Not just you. Varys has told me that we all are under secret surveillance. He believes it’s Stannis’ way of monitoring what we are doing within his stronghold.”

   “He wouldn’t dare. Not your own ally. Surely custom dictates you shouldn’t do that.” 

   “Even if it did, it wouldn’t stop him. The kingdom, even without the major threat we face, is in imbalance. He can’t risk you destroying him from the inside. He’s paranoid, which makes him even more dangerous than he usually is. Be careful.”

   “I’m surprised to find you down here...your Grace.” They looked up as the man they were discussing interrupted their conversation. He was wearing a cocky smirk on his face as he walked up to them, completely ignoring Tyrion as he grasped Daenerys’s hand tightly before bending down and planting a dry kiss on it. As he was hunched over, the imp gave Daenerys a knowing glance, with this interaction seemingly proving the point he had been trying to make. Surely it was too much of a coincidence for Stannis to turn up down here.

   “I was just curious as to what the progress was with the work down here. It’s quite fascinating, don’t you think?” Although her comments were conversational, her tone had a scathing bite to it. She did not enjoy his presence one bit. 

   “Quite,” he answered hesitantly, not expecting the strange question. “But I would have expected that a woman like yourself would not care about the nitty-gritty when it comes to war.” She also didn't enjoy what hidden message lay beneath his remark.

   “One can find interest in a lot of things when they have nothing better to do. But don’t underestimate my hunger for and willingness to partake in war.” It was a warning to him but he ignored it.

   “If you are so bored…”  _ Had he been listening to their conversation?  _ “Then why not come and spend time with me? We could have a much needed conversation. It’s about time we got to know each other better.” He said this before placing a hand on the small of her back, guiding her away from her interests and a helpless Tyrion.

**********

   The Wall was even more foreboding up close. They’d all stopped a few steps away from it, looking up at the towering construction. None of them had said a word since they had reached their destination. Many of them wanted to grumble about the anti-climatic nature of their arrival but kept quiet, sharing hushed glances at the warlock who had brought them this far. He was examining the Wall closely with his old eyes, trying to see if anything noticeable was wrong with it. He could still feel that inner sense which was speaking to him, reaching out to him. All he had to do was reach out. It wasn’t his own voice, that was for sure. Someone he didn't know. But they seemed to know him.

   “What now then?” Sandor Clegane was his usual impatient self but he got no answer. Instead, Bruda took the final steps towards the Wall in silence. Right next to it, he continued to observe it, all the crevices and cracks that had undoubtedly formed throughout the centuries of its existence. There was something there. Not physical. Yet it wanted to be observed. He looked down at his right hand, turning it around and moving his fingers as he felt the build up of magical potential. He slowly placed his hand on the surface of the ice. He naturally expected it to be cold to the touch, like everything else in the North, yet it was almost...warm. The explanation for that was soon realised as he noticed the usual golden glow of his magic begin to swirl around his hand, becoming brighter and brighter.

   “What’s happening?” Jon asked worriedly, his facial expression matching that of everyone else’s. “What are you doing?” Bruda looked back at him but kept his hand firmly attached to the Wall. 

   “I don’t know,” came his honest response. Within seconds of his answer, the golden energy shot away from his hand and moved up the wall. Pieces of ice began to crumble and fall as it filled the very cracks and crevices he had been observing moments before. The others jumped back in surprise and watched as a pattern began to form on the face of the Wall, the energy coalescing and forming strands that spiralled off in varying directions. Bruda didn't have any control over what was happening but it wasn’t a painful experience. He watched as the movement began to slow down and he was soon able to remove his hand, shaking it as the feeling returned to it. He stepped back so he could get a better view of what had been formed. It looked like a spiral, tendrils of golden grooves in the ice forming a crude circle and all of them connected to one centre spot. He didn't have any clue what it meant or why it had formed.

   “I’ve seen this before,” Jon remarked. Mance and Tormund agreed with him. Bruda snapped his head around to look at them, quickly walking to them, asking them the question he wanted to say without having to actually speak. “When we were beyond the Wall...the wights left dead carcasses of animals in this same formation.”

   “We don’t know why they did that,” Mance continued. “We just thought that it was their way of boasting. Showing us that they were near. But I doubt that now we’ve seen this.” Bruda stroked his beard in frustration, hating not knowing things at the best of times. 

   “Men...I think you should see this.” The worry and fear in Beric’s voice as he got their attention immediately made them look at him. He was pointing to the very top of the Wall, which was only just visible to them. They followed the line he was directing and spotted what had made him so anxious. A wight. Looking down at them from the very top. Not moving. Only watching. They stood still, staring at it in the same way it was staring at them. Bruda cautiously moved his arm, swinging his staff in a slow arc to see if it would cause the creature to move. Nothing. No reaction. 

   “Is it a threat to us?” the Hound wondered aloud.

   “It’s just a sentinel,” the warlock reasoned. “Won’t do anything unless it’s ordered to. I doubt it could get to us from there anyway.”

   “How did it get up there?” Jon asked the group. Bruda startled at the question. Of all the things to ask in this situation, that had not been at the top of his priority list. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more he realised it was a crucial query.

   “I have no clue.” He then thought back to the short yet enlightening conversation he had had with Mance before. “Oh...oh no” They all looked at him curiously. “I have been a massive idiot!” he shouted. “We just thought that when the dead were...converted to what they are, it was just a control over a dead body. But a person is so much more than that! And they know that. A person is made up of thoughts and memories. And those remain when they become a wight.” He looked at them, noticing the lack of comprehension on their faces. “Think of the people they’ve killed. Mance, you said that only your people knew how to get around the Wall. So how would the Walkers do that?”

   Mance’s face turned ashen in colour. “They used what they learnt when they were alive?” 

   “Exactly. Now think back to the Night’s Watch, members of which have been turned to Wights. Jon, you’ve told me before about standing on the top of the Wall. I’m presuming you managed to do that through a lift system of some kind.” The young man nodded in response. Then comprehension dawned on his face.

   “So you mean...all the things we’ve built, the lifts, the stairs…”

   “They’ve built them on the other side.”

   “They could march down to us at Winterfell at any time,” Mance said, alarmed. “Why haven’t they?”

   “They can afford to be patient. They’ve got no clock against them. But that’s the least of our problems right now.” Mance was about to dispute that point when he noticed Bruda looking back up at the Wall. The sentinel had been joined by another figure. It looked more humanoid, with a distinguishable face, yet the figure was blue. “Gentlemen,” the warlock said with a wary tone. “You’re looking at the Night King.”


	31. Manipulation and Tiredness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruda and Daenerys find themselves in difficult situations for very different reasons

  Even from a distance, the Night King cut an imposing figure. He stared intently at the group, not moving or showing any sign that he cared about their presence. Just like the Wight by his side but his arrival was a worrying sign for them. Bruda motioned with his hand for them to slowly step backward, maintaining eye contact with the leader of the dead. The warlock gripped his staff tightly as he looked at their opponent. It wasn’t time yet. He knew that much. It was all happening too soon.

   “It’s too soon,” he muttered to himself but Jon, who was stood fairly close to him, overheard his words.

   “What do you mean?” the young man wondered but Bruda was focused too intently on the creature to take in what was said. Beric stood his ground next to them, holding aloft his sword that was soon covered in flames. The others looked at it in surprise but Bruda barely noticed.

   “We’re going to have to fight our way out of here, I think,” Dondarrion said bravely, which got the attention of the concerned mage.

   “No, we wouldn’t stand a chance. It would be an exercise in futility. But look - he hasn’t ordered an attack yet. Maybe we can just walk away. Get back to the horses. But only if you put that godforsaken thing away!” He finished with a shout, which prompted Beric to do as he was told. They’d never seen Bruda so shaken up until this point. Yet his optimism was soon cut short. The Night King appeared to shift, bending down to reach for something that lay by his feet on the top of the Wall. They couldn’t properly make out what it was from the distance between them but they knew it wouldn’t be beneficial to their health. Before they could react, the Night King flung the object towards them. It fired past Bruda and the brief scream behind him told him that it had hit one of them. Thoros of Myr lay on the floor dead with a spear seemingly made entirely out of ice protruding out of him. His body was partially propped up by the end that had gone straight through him; he had died instantly. Bruda guessed that was a small blessing. His lifeless eyes stared at them unblinkingly, deep red blood dripping from his half-open mouth, as well as from the deep fatal wound that had been made. The mage looked back up at their enemy and could see the sadistic smile lighting up the face of the Night King. He was reaching down for another weapon. They began to panic. 

   “Everyone run!” he shouted at them, flinging his arm out to motion which direction they should go. They all began to move apart from Jon, who looked at Bruda intently.

   “You need to come as well!” he barked. 

   “I can hold him up for the time being. Get to the horses and on the road back to Winterfell.” The look he gave him told Jon that it wasn’t up for discussion. He slowly started moving away as Bruda took a firm hold of his staff. He moved it in a small arc and the snow around him was blown up in a whirlwind. A cloud of snow formed around him and where the others had been, making a barrier to stop the attack. It was taking a lot out of him and he looked back to make sure they had got to a suitable distance. “I’ll eventually get back to you. One way or another,” he shouted over the bustling wind. He opened his arms out and the storm of snow flew forwards towards the Wall and where the Night King was stood. It impacted heavily with the ice barrier, sending a shockwave back at them, knocking Bruda and a group of trees to the ground. Using his staff, he pushed himself up back to a standing position so that he could see what damage he had done. Part of the Wall was caved in but it still seemed structurally sound. He looked to the top and could no longer see the Night King - he didn't know whether that was a good thing. 

   Not wanting to waste time, he waved his staff again, making the trees float into the air before they were thrown against the end of the Wall. Snow billowed around him once again as it was forced to join the trees. He took a look at the stone building of East Watch before sending a bolt of blue energy at it. The nearest wall began to instantly crumble and he began using the bricks and other construction materials to form a barrier where Mance had said there had been a weakness open to exploitation. It would slow their march down but he knew it wouldn’t last as a permanent blockade. It was all he could do at the present time but he now needed to focus on getting out of there, just in they were able to find a way through. He began running in the direction the others had, not looking back at the devastation he had caused, the corpse of Thoros or the slowly fading golden symbol that had adorned the Wall.

   When he got to the horses, he was glad to see that the majority were gone. Only his stallion remained, who was bucking wildly due to the chaos that had ensued. He felt sorry for it, knowing how scared it must have been, especially since it had faced the prospect of being left alone. He stroked it gently, sending a golden glow through its body with his hand to calm it down. Eventually, he was able to get on its back and start off on the long journey back. The others would get to Winterfell before him because of their head start. He just hoped he arrived in time before they told Daenerys the terrible news.

   **********

   Daenerys was currently sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair, staring at Stannis as he moved about his council room. It was much smaller than the hall they used for group meetings and discussions so she came to the obvious conclusion that it was designed for more personal and discreet conversations. That notion troubled her, not knowing why he had wanted to speak to her. And why it had to be done in such a private setting. Hadn’t Bruda warned her that something like this was likely to happen? She berated herself for being so easily guided under the pressure of his arm. She was born to be a queen and yet she had quickly bowed to his will. That couldn’t continue. Especially when alone with him. She hadn’t said a word to him since they had moved to his room, almost trying to convey the idea mentally that she would prefer to be anywhere else than here. 

   “Would you care for a drink?” Stannis asked, sifting through a dusty cupboard on the wall. The condition of the storage would have put her off anyway but she had already told herself not to accept. She needed to keep her wits about her if she were to outmanoeuvre him in their conversation. She needed a more diplomatic answer though.

   “No thank you. I try to not drink too much, especially in the times we’re facing. Just in case something...sudden was to happen.” He gave her an odd look at her answer but said nothing about it. He poured himself a glass of what looked like a crimson wine and took a seat opposite her. No words uttered, just swirling his glass in his hand. As if he were calculating his next move. Or had he already planned everything?

   “Ever since your arrival, I have been wanting us to have a...chat. One to one. There just never seemed to be the opportunity, with you constantly being watched over by those two old men. It must grow tiresome, not having any freedom or privacy.”

   “I presume you’re talking about Jorah and Bruda. Who are my dearest friends.”

   “And I fully accept and acknowledge that. But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be allowed to make your own decisions. Or spend time alone, enjoying some luxuries. To me, and I mean not to insult you, it is like they don’t completely trust you.” Her hands clenched tightly on the arms of the chair she was sitting on. “And for a woman of your prestige, I couldn’t stand by quietly and watch it happen.” She stopped herself from answering immediately because she would have probably bitten his head off. Instead, she sat back and plastered a fake smile on her face.

   “I am grateful for your concern but you shouldn’t worry. If I did not want them there, I would tell them plainly. They are there to advise me, not make my decisions. That will always be up to me, and me alone.” A resolute answer that she hoped would stop Stannis traveling along this line of query.

   “Yet you call them your friends. In a time of war, and any other time as a ruler, you need advisors. Tacticians. Not friends. Davos is my Hand, not my friend. I would mourn his death but it would not derail my campaign. Now, if one of your...companions were to perish, I wonder if you would be able to cope in the same manner.” He had made two mistakes in her eyes. Speaking so callously about Davos, who she cared a great deal about, and talking about her friends dying. She wondered if it were a thinly veiled threat.

   “I think we have different styles of ruling. I like to show compassion. Especially to those around me. It means they will be more loyal to me. And, if my mood towards them changes, then it tells them quickly that they have done me wrong. I find it quite an efficient way of controlling people.”

   “The innocent queen. You cut such a lovely figure.” He looked her over lecherously. “But you speak of controlling people. Would your dear knight or mystical warlock be proud if they heard you speak in such a manner?” She found it difficult to maintain eye contact. “I don’t think they would. It would be such a shame if they were to find out your true nature.”

   “They know my true nature and it is nothing like what you describe. You hardly know me yet believe you can analyse me so easily.”

   “Keep telling yourself that if it allows you to sleep better at night. They certainly are getting longer. But you will realise soon that you are more like me than you would care for.”  _ What did that mean? What was he planning?  _ She stood up abruptly - Stannis sat back in his chair having leaned forward whilst talking. He wore a smug smirk. 

   “What was the reason for this conversation?” she asked him angrily.

   “It is like you said. I should know you better. Since we are planning on working together.” She has to remind herself that she needed his support and men for the future. And she knew that he had come to the same conclusion, which is why he was treating her with such disdain; because he could.

   “You should start praying to your Lord of Light if you want to know what I am truly like. Not many people survive such a conversation.” She glared at him one last time before she stormed out of the room, not noticing the smile on Stannis’s face. So much fire in her. It was an admirable trait. But a fatal one. She would either come to make a rash decision that would cost her dearly or react badly if something were to go wrong. She just needed pushing closer to that point.

*********

   There was a somber atmosphere on the ship as they sailed away from Bear Island after a woefully fruitless trip. Jorah had been in a bad mood ever since the meeting, resorting back to the scowl that had so often lined his face in the past. He didn't know whether it was because of the lack of understanding and negotiation Lady Mormont and Petyr Baelish had been willing to give or because he had basically stood there and watched as it all unfolded. He was ashamed. What must his father think if he was watching over him at that moment? What would Daenerys think when he broke the news to her of his failure? She’d reassure him, tell him that they would be able to manage without that support. It would only be a small number anyway, she’d say. Yet he would know the truth. And shame would fill him. 

   He heard footsteps behind him, instinctively knowing that it would be Davos. The Unsullied soldiers weren’t exactly the type of people to get to know you properly or sit down and have a conversation with you. They stood side by side for a moment, watching the ship part the wild waves with ease. The chaos below was oddly soothing.

   “It’s not your fault,” Davos pointed out, trying to ease the inner turmoil inside of him. He doubted that it would work but it was worth the try. “You could tell she has been corrupted by that man. Stannis always talked about him reverently, praise his skills of manipulation and unearthing hidden secrets. That should tell you enough about him.” It was strange to hear him talk so negatively about his superior. The tension obviously hadn’t subsided.

   “I didn't do enough. I just let you handle everything. I...froze. What sort of political advisor would fail in such a manner? Daenerys deserves someone better, with more knowledge of what to do and how to negotiate a difficult situation. Someone like you.”

   “You know she will never get rid of you. And I will be there to support her and help you through these sorts of interactions. And you need to realise that other meetings won’t usually have an emotional undercurrent to it. It’s not everyday you return home.” Something that Davos said had peaked Jorah’s interest.

   “Won’t you be too busy with Stannis to be helping us?” Davos’s face contorted into an angry glare that was focused on the crashing water. He took a brief moment to mull over his next words.

   “You...Daenerys...Bruda...have shown me more respect than I deserve. And more respect than Stannis will ever show me. I would be a fool to actively choose to be on his side rather than yours.” It was an expected sentiment but still shocking to Jorah. From what he knew, Davos had been loyal to the Baratheon for a number of years now. Even if there was a negative change in their relationship, this still would have been a difficult decision for him and Jorah needed to acknowledge that appropriately. 

   “Well...I’m guessing you have thought long and hard about this. And I can tell that this choice was not the easiest one you could have picked. But I must say that I am glad. Daenerys truly values you and will be even happier when she finds out. Your bluntness will be perfect in counteracting Bruda’s...shall we say, over abundant way with words?” He nudged Davos with his shoulder and they shared a small chuckle, still looking at the deep blue water. “How are you going to break the news to Stannis though?”

   “Do I have to?” Jorah laughed again, thinking that Davos was joking. He looked at his face again and could tell quickly that he wasn’t. “I doubt he’ll want me around a lot anyway after what happened. And we have the small prospect of a war looming over our shoulders. For the little time we will have together now, I think I’ll be able to remain neutral.”

   “What about after the war? If we make it through it.” It was one thing to pretend to be on someone’s side for a short duration of time, but it would be a lot longer after the conflict.

   “Maybe we’ll have to hope that Stannis doesn’t make it through the war.” Jorah didn't like the look on Davos’ face; it was filled with too much rage and contempt. 

   “You can’t possibly be thinking about killing him? If people found out...you would face the threat of execution. And it would probably come down to Daenerys to make that sort of verdict. You can’t expect her to do that. Choose between you and the thousands of men that Stannis has brought to the table.”

   “It would be worth it. To see the look of shock on his face, knowing that he had gone too far, isolated himself too much. To realise that he wouldn’t have made a good leader at all.” Jorah had never heard Davos talk in such a manner. It was a different side to his comrade that he hadn’t seen before. He had to tread carefully to try and convince him not to go down this dark path.

   “What about Shireen?” That stopped Davos in his tracks and he glared at Jorah for bringing her up. “Would you risk seeing her look at you with distaste, anger, sorrow? I know she is important to you. Don’t lose that. It’s vital in a time like this to have someone, something like that to keep you going. So you have a stronger will to survive. I have it with Daenerys, thankfully. I wouldn’t want to give that up. Especially for something so petty as revenge.”

   Davos bowed his head. Jorah didn't know whether it was out of regret, shame or maybe just plain tiredness at the whole situation. “Maybe you’re right. And you’re right. We’re bloody lucky to have people in our lives worth fighting for. I never thought I’d be in the situation to say that again.” Jorah smiled at him.

   “Neither did I.”

**********

   They’d decided to set up a small camp with night drawing in. Their horses needed the rest too; they had ridden them hard to get away as quickly as possible from the Wall. Jon had looked at them all in a frenzy, these men fleeing when push came to shove. Scrambling around to get on their horses, whilst another man faced off against their greatest enemy and foe. It had been difficult, extremely difficult, to leave Bruda behind but the look on his face had left him no choice. The warlock was a formidable figure and one that you rarely dared question. And Jon knew that the skills he had to offer wouldn’t have been that much of a help in the dire situation they were in. He still had hope as he sat with his back against a large tree, the others long been sleeping around a fire that had been lit, that the old man would somehow survive. It wasn’t as if he had been made to battle the Night King directly. At least, that prospect hadn’t looked likely when had left.

   He was falling asleep when he heard a distinct noise coming from the road they had been travelling on. He stood up abruptly as the sound of horse hooves on the track filled the air. Whoever it was, they weren’t going fast enough to wake the others. That sentiment was confounded when Tormund let out a particularly large snore. Jon ignored him to edge forward, using the tree as the perfect place to hide himself. He unsheathed his sword and continued to step forward, trying to see who it was through the enveloping darkness. 

   An artificial light was guiding the horse, which helped Jon to see it. He knew of only one person with the capability to make light in such a way and his mood brightened considerably. He quickly placed his sword away and rushed out, getting the rider’s attention. The horse stopped when Jon went into the middle of the road and stood still as he walked around to its side. 

   “Jon?” came a voice from the dark. Bruda’s recognisable voice was smaller and raspier than it usually was but Jon could still tell it was him. The warlock extinguished the light which was too bright for them to see each properly. His eyes became more adjusted to the dark, allowing him to make out Bruda’s figure on top of the horse. His face looked old, older than usual, and extremely tired. “Will you help me down?” Jon had to do most of the work, pushing him up and then holding him up, otherwise Bruda would have likely crumpled to the floor. He was starting to worry about the general health of his compatriot. He guided him to the tree, setting him down slowly, before returning to the horse and tying it to the same pine. He looked warily at Bruda.

   “What happened after we left?” Had he fought the Night King personally? If so, how was he still on the plain of the living?

   “Nothing much,” the warlock answered with a dry laugh. “Kicked up a snow storm to stop him from firing any more of those of spears at me.” The way he spoke about it so nonchalantly bemused Jon. “I then destroyed the castle.” Jon’s eyes widened at that but he allowed Bruda to continue retelling the story. “I had to. Used the stone to block their potential passage. Buy us a little bit more time.” He winced as he finished talking.

   “So they can’t get through now? We can go back with some positive news then,” Jon said positively. He should have known that it was not a time for positivity.

   “Don’t be so naive and stupid, Snow.” Obviously, Bruda’s condition made him even more blunt than usual. “They’ll easily find a way past the blockade. It will just slow them down. That’s the only positive thing that has happened on this journey.” Another wince. 

   “What happened to you though? You didn't mention getting injured.”

   “I wasn’t. Not a scratch. But I used a lot of my magical power. And I’m not supposed to do that. It’s like any energy reserve. Use it all up and you become slow, lethargic, tired. But, in my case, my magic is the thing sustaining my life. Meaning if I use it up…”

   “You’ll die.”

   “Bingo. So I shouldn’t do it too often. Only for special occasions.” Jon tried to put that thought to the back of his mind for now.

   “What do you think that symbol was that was on the Wall?”

   “I don’t know yet. I’m sure we’ll be finding out soon. That’s the only thing that has made this trip worthwhile.”

   “Why?”

   “Why?” Bruda repeated incredulously. “Because it is going to be a clue in how to stop these monsters. I can feel it in my bones. You said you have seen it before. That must mean it’s important. We just have to figure out why. Another mystery to solve in the few weeks we have left.” 

   “You don’t seem confident we will win this. Saying we have weeks left.”

   “Because the enemies we face are not human. They won’t stop. They’ll be clawing at the stone I put up right this very moment. Once they’re through, they’ll march constantly until they’re upon us, destroying every sign of civilisation that is unfortunate to be on their path. Don’t give me the fucking positivity speech when our odds are so low. You need to learn that people will die. All I can do is try and make sure not everyone does before it’s over.” Was he talking about the war or something else? Jon couldn’t tell. Bruda’s voice had become distant, as if he was drifting away from the conversation. He needed to keep him talking. One thing had been niggling at him.

   “When you saw him...you said it was too soon. What did you mean?”

   “It means that we’re in trouble. That’s all you need to worry about for now. Everything...will be...explained.” His voice was even softer now. “Now if you don’t mind...I think I need to sleep.”


	32. Conversations and Breakthroughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys is reunited with a certain warlock, who gets one step closer to defeating the White Walkers

To say that the others in the group were shocked to see that Bruda had caught up to them, and in one piece for that matter, was an understatement. That wasn’t to say, however, that they were too surprised. To them, it just seemed that he had performed yet another miracle, this time somehow staying alive long enough to look Death in his cold, dead eyes. The warlock had slept long into the morning, with Jon constantly checking that he wasn’t in actual fact, dead. They needed to move though but knew that whatever rest he was getting was vital for his survival. So they had promptly picked his body up, most of the lifting done by Sandor Clegane, and had tied him in an upright position on his horse, tethering said stallion to Jon’s to keep it moving. Their efforts had worked, with Bruda not waking once during the commotion and somehow staying on the horse, as if his magic was keeping him there. It wouldn’t be the most astounding thing he had ever done.

   He had, thankfully, eventually woken up over two days into their journey, with them close to the grounds of Winterfell. He had initially moaned, still groggy and mainly in the grasps of sleep, about his back being stiff, suggesting that Jon should have carried him on his back. He didn't really know whether he was joking or not. Yet, when he was told that they were close to arriving back, he had become on high alert, agitated at seeing Daenerys again. Jon supposed it had something to do with what he had seen, most likely the fact that they now knew the White Walkers were approaching and had the means of getting past the Wall. But what annoyed him was that Bruda was not willing to divulge what had him so tight lipped; he felt that they had grown somewhat close over the duration of their journey. He guessed he had thought wrong, which put him in a rather terse mood. What irritated him even more was that Bruda either hadn’t noticed the shift in his mood or just didn't care. He was yet to decide which was worst.

   Daenerys, standing tensely next to Stannis and Melisandre, was waiting for them when they rode through the large gates. As they got closer, she remained standing in the same place, fighting the urge to run out and see if Bruda was alright and fighting fit. She was making sure not to give her fellow leader any more ammunition about the worthiness of her position of high power. She had avoided him ever since the awful conversation, trying to push hateful thoughts about him to the back of her mind. She knew that if he permanently occupied a space inside her head, he had won the first battle. She had no idea how many more there would be but definitely knew she needed to do better if there was a next one. What concerned her was the thought that what he said was close to the truth. Was she equipped to watch over a kingdom she barely knew? She was planning on having a conversation about it with Bruda, and Jorah when he returned. For now, she tried to forget about it as her old warlock slowly climbed off his mount.  _ Funny.  _ She smiled as she referred to him as  _ hers.  _ When she thought about it, she was right. He was certainly close with Jorah, and friendly with Davos. She’d even go as far as saying he got on with a lot of people. But they shared a special, personal connection. He’d always look at her with care and adoration and she’d return the favour. He’d complain if she worded such sentiment though. One day she’d explain how much he meant to her.

   “Oh, it is so good to see your face, Bruda,” she said in greeting, wrapping him in a warm hug. She had missed having someone, anyone, to properly talk to. Even Missandei had been absent, always in the company of Tyrion, and any time they spent together was brief. It wasn’t the same anyway as having her boys to talk to. 

   “I could say the exact same thing, your Grace,” he replied, his big beard tickling her face pleasantly. He never usually referred to her so politely, normally omitting any titles. Something was wrong. Although he had immediately returned the hug, it was still somehow...tentative. Distant. She pulled back and looked at his face. It seemed old and tired, whereas it was usually joyful and jubilant. His energy seemed to be sapped. Something was troubling him and, if that was the case, they were all in real danger. She searched his eyes, him looking right at her too with a dark expression. It was if they were having a conversation without words. And he was saying one thing - they needed to talk. In private. She nodded her head slightly so that everyone else couldn’t see. There was no need to arouse suspicion. They turned back to the others to see Stannis addressing them all.

   “So, was the journey worth the effort? I’m hoping you have figured some things out, warlock. Anything you’d like to divulge to me?” The way he talked annoyed Bruda but he remained calm and composed.

   “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d much prefer to have such an important conversation in a more private space. You’d understand...we don’t want prying eyes watching us. Just to be on the safe side, wouldn’t you say?” Daenerys wanted to smile. His words sounded fairly pleasant but he hadn’t regarded him with any titles, something he knew that would disgruntle Stannis without making it obvious to the others the tension that was there. This was even without him knowing about her interaction with him. She wondered if he’d bother with niceties after that conversation. Stannis nodded and began to walk away, annoyed that Bruda had once again acted against his authority. Melisandre lingered, watching the warlock carefully. They hadn’t got on too well since meeting but he checked himself when he saw the look she was giving. He’d go as far as saying it was...sad. She could tell they had uncovered something. But there was more to it. As if she knew what was going to happen in the future. He observed her, returning the look for a moment before nodding slightly. Her face showed shock, realising he knew the thoughts running through her head. She turned around and followed Stannis, leaving Bruda to ponder this latest development.

**********

   Daenerys and Bruda quickly made their way to her room, after she had greeted and thanked everyone who had followed the warlock to the Wall. Although they returned her handshakes, they were still tentative. She didn't know whether it was because they were still not fully trusting of her, which in Jon’s case seemed unlikely, or because of what they had seen at the end of their travels. It was the main reason why she wanted to have this conversation. Bruda sighed as he lowered himself into a wooden chair, rubbing his brow with his right hand, his staff left to lean against the seat. Daenerys watched him worriedly. She had never seen him act in such a manner, so lacking in the life that normally filled him to the brim. Was he just getting old? She didn't know exactly what his age was but knew that it defied all reasonable logic. That was what he did though - defy all rules of nature. She continued to stare at him, wondering if his condition would improve through the sheer will power of her mind and heart. He eventually looked up, noticing her watching him, and gave her a weak smile in response. It did little to assuage the feelings of worry inside her.

   “What happened up there? What did you see?” It took a lot of effort to finally voice her concerns, even if she realised he knew that she had to ask. 

   “Proof.” That was all he said, that one word answer. She was sure he had wanted to speak to her. So why wasn’t he telling her anything? It was infuriating.

   “Proof? Proof of what?” She walked over to him, lifting his head up with her hands and looking into his eyes once again.

   “Proof that we’re in serious trouble, Daenerys. We saw the Night King. And we figured out that they can get past the Wall. Whenever they want.” She wanted to step back, take a seat, as the weight of what he said landed on her. But she remained where she was. She had to stay strong, to show him that she was a leader. That she would fight until the very end.

   “Well it’s not the ideal situation,” she said dryly. “But it’s a scenario that we expected. We just need to start preparing properly sooner and faster. We can be ready in time.” He liked her positive outlook although he didn't reckon it was worth the effort. He still nodded his head in agreement.

   “I think I’ve managed to hold them back at least for the time being. Give us some valuable time to be better prepared for their arrival whilst they’re stalled.” She eyed him carefully.

   “And what do you mean by that?” He wished that she hadn’t asked that question because he knew she wouldn’t enjoy the answer.

   “You should know that he attacked us. He had these...spears that could travel long distances. Thoros didn't make it sadly.” She felt ashamed in that moment.

   “I...don’t know who he is...was.” He patted her arm softly.

   “You’re not going to know everyone who dies in this war. Most people to you will be faceless names blowing away like smoke. It is not your job to be friendly to everyone. It is your duty to encourage them to fight and to make sure that they feel that, if they do die, then it is worth a damn thing.”

   “So...the spears?” she asked, attempting to redirect him to her previous line of questioning.

   “Yes, well...I ordered the others to get out of there because I didn't need anyone else dying. I managed to face him head on and disrupt what he could see, meaning that he couldn’t throw any more of them. He disappeared after I sent a charge at the Wall. But then I didn't stop. I blocked their way past the Wall using materials from the castle. It isn’t a permanent blockade but it buys us time, like I said.”

   “You took the Night King on?” He nodded. She placed a warm hand on his cheek before slapping him, hard. “Why would you do that?” she shouted at him, taking him by surprise almost as much as the slap. “Are you a fool? You could have died! And the others would have already been gone and you would have been left to die in the cold and the snow...and I would never have known for sure what happened to you!” She was rambling. He stood up and pulled her into a tight hug, raking his hand through her hair in an attempt to soothe her. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again.” Tears stung his eyes as she said that. It was a good job that she couldn’t see his face in that moment. 

   “...yes ma’am,” he replied after composing himself, yet his voice was still barely above a whisper.

   “Good. I need you. I’ve told you a number of times now yet you keep doing silly stuff like that. It’s like you don’t care.”

   “Of course I do. But my first instinct was to protect everyone else. And that won’t change.”

   “You could have ran with them. Hoped to get away in time,” she reasoned meekly.

   “There is no honour in dying with your back facing your enemy as he flings a flying shard of ice at you,” he answered, trying to bring some levity to the situation.”

   “You said that the Night King disappeared. Maybe you killed him.” Her voice was now hopeful.

   “If only. I wish that were the case but I sincerely doubt that it will be that easy.”

   “Nothing ever is.” There came a knock at the door and they broke apart, realising that they were still holding on to each other. Bruda looked away as Daenerys blushed. She moved quickly to the door and was surprised to see the one other man she needed to see right now. “Jorah.” 

   The knight was expecting a warm welcome but was still surprised when she flung herself at him, squeezing him tight before planting a long, lingering kiss on his lips. They only separated from each other when Bruda coughed into his hand awkwardly. Again, a blush crept up her neck but it didn't stop her from smiling brightly. The warlock stepped up to Jorah and gave him a quick pat on the back.

   “Excuse me if I don’t give you a similar welcome to the fair lady here,” he quipped, acting as if there hadn’t been a serious and emotional conversation happening mere moments ago.

   “I’m surprised to see you here at all. How long have you been back?”

   “Not long. Only just got back.”

   “And you came straight to Daenerys’ room? Should I be concerned?” It was unusual for Jorah to be the one doing the teasing; he relished in how effective it was in making her sputter.

   “You’d know if anything happened between us, Mormont. One night with me and she’d never look at you again.” Jorah barked a roar of laughter, whilst Daenerys hit on the arm playfully.

   “Gentlemen, please. It is improper to talk in such a manner. And it’s not exactly the best time to be having such thoughts.”

   “So there is a good time to have these thoughts?” Bruda asked innocently.

   “You are incorrigible. Anyone else speaking like that would get themselves a night’s stay in the dungeon.”

   “Dearie me, you are such a flirt, aren’t you?” Jorah looked between the two of them, taking their interaction in. He had certainly missed it during his time away. “But, getting back on track. We must know if your journey was better than mine.” He’d have to come back to what Bruda meant by that after he explained what happened. They could already tell that they were going to receive even more bad news from the grim look on his face.

   “I’m sorry, khaleesi. The Mormont lady refused to support us. I can only think it was down to us having no concrete evidence that the White Walkers exist. But there’s no way of producing such a thing.”

   “As long as you tried your best. We could have done with the few extra men but it would have only been a few more. It probably won’t make a difference in the end. Twenty more people won’t win us this war.”

   “That’s exactly what Davos said.”

   “Is he alright as well?” she asked brightly.

   “Of course. He was just as annoyed as I was that we couldn’t reach an agreement. We’ve moved on though.” He observed Bruda, who had been quiet whilst he talked, a rare occurrence. Now he looked more closely, he could see more numerous lines on his face. It seemed that he was right when he implied he had had a tough trip too. “It doesn’t look like you had much success either.”

   “Well, we’ve certainly got a ticking clock counting down on us now. But that has always been the case. We just know for sure that they can get past the Wall.” To be fair to Jorah, he took the news surprisingly well, simply nodding his head slowly. “But we did have some success. At least I’m hoping we did.” It was Daenerys’ turn to look at him now, a hint of anger lurking there. “I was about to tell you before we were rudely interrupted. It was at the Wall. A symbol appeared on it after I touched it.”

   “Do you know what it means?” Daenerys inquired.

   “Not yet. I’m hoping to get a chance to talk with Marwyn after we’re done here. If anyone will know, I’m hoping it’s him.”

   “After you’ve done that, I guess we’ll need to bring everyone together. Stannis will want to know what’s going on,” Jorah pointed out to them. “Especially if you’re suggesting that we’re running out of time.” Daenerys’ expression turned dark.

   “Lord Baratheon is not my favourite person at the moment.” The two men eyed each other, both shrugging their soldiers to indicate they had no idea what she was going on about. They waited for her to elaborate, which took a moment as she put her anger in check. “Whilst you were gone, he brought it upon himself to pull me aside so we could have a  _ much needed conversation. _ ” They didn't like where this was going. “He basically told me that, if I want to become a proper ruler, then I should get away from you two. He believes that you are, in a sense, trying to control and limit me.” Bruda stepped back and glared at the table. His hands, that were placed on it, began to glow and he had to stop himself before the wood caught fire. He was so angry that he hadn’t been able to control his magic. But that hadn’t happened before, at least from what he could remember. He was probably still tired. He looked back to see them sharing worried expressions at his actions.

   “It’s utter nonsense. He’s only saying such things because he wants us out of the picture. He knows you are stronger when you have us by your side to support you. He wants you weak and vulnerable so he can take advantage of you. Use you to further his gains.”

   “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you,” she said indignantly.

   “That’s the sort of thinking he wants from you!” Bruda shouted.

   “So you don’t think I can?” she retorted, anger building further.

   “You know that’s not what I mean. But he wants you to start thinking that because you’ll start to believe that he’s right. If you continue like that, one day you will get rid of us and then he’ll swoop in.” He stepped closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders, leaning in close. For one, excitable moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. She wondered what it was like. She was getting distracted. “You are stronger than him. Probably more than anyone here.” She doubted she was stronger than Bruda. “Remember that but keep it in your head that you can be stronger with people helping you. Stannis is losing that.”

   “You’re right,” Jorah added. “Davos said himself that he’s lost faith in him.”

   “Exactly. And, from what I can tell, the Red Woman is on her way out too. Turn the tables on him. Wait until he’s at his most vulnerable then manipulate and control him.”  _ Control. _ It brought up another point Stannis had made, one she had thought best not to divulge. What would they think if she brought up the worry that she was controlling them and others close to them. She made people devoted to her and often used it to her advantage, mostly subconsciously. Did that make her a bad person? “But now, I am going to do some investigating on a more diabolical threat we face. Fingers crossed that Marwyn has the answers or we’re in even more trouble.” He began to head for the door but stopped when Daenerys spoke out.

   “Bruda...go straight to Marywn. No quick journeys to teach Stannis a lesson.” She knew what he was like after all. He grinned.

   “No promises milady.”

**********

   To be fair to the warlock, he did walk straight to Marwyn’s office deep inside the castle of Winterfell. That wasn’t to say that he had...inadvertently strolled past the room that housed Stannis Baratheon. And he definitely wouldn’t be telling Daenerys he had  _ accidentally  _ left an invisible string of magical energy outside of his door, which would sadly cause him to trip over onto the hard, painfully hard in fact, stone floor the next time he left his accommodation. People would wonder the next time they saw him what had caused the ugly swelling on his forehead and he would have no answer, probably shouting at them for asking a stupid question before storming off. And Bruda would smirk and evade all questions sent at him from the lovely young woman he was devoted to. Revenge was a beautiful concept, especially when you were a warlock. 

   Shaking those gleeful thoughts from his head, he knocked on Marwyn’s door and, after hearing an invitation to enter, he stepped inside the office. It was more cluttered than it was the last time Bruda was here, pieces of parchment covering the desk and most of the floor, all with complex theories scrawled on them. Bruda picked one sheet up to examine it whilst Marwyn continued to write but couldn’t make out anything due to most of it being scribbled out. The archmaester looked up from his work and sent a warm but tired smile at the warlock. 

   “I knew it would be you,” he started, putting his quill back in the inkpot. “I don’t get many visitors. You and that Jaime Lannister are the only ones really, and his visits have certainly lowered in number after Pycelle’s unfortunate passing.”

   “You should get out more. Take a walk around the grounds. I’ve heard the Godswood are quite pleasant to look at.” Marwyn gave a hollow laugh.

   “There will be plenty of time to enjoy the luxuries of life once this dreaded war is over with. For now, I’ve got plenty of work to be doing in the effort of finding new ways of defeating the White Walkers. So far, it seems that the only weaknesses they have are fire, which is why dragonglass and valyrian steel supposedly work against them since they are formed in flame.” Bruda looked down at his staff, wondering whether it would be worthwhile to sharpen it to make it into a weapon for the battle to come. “But I’m sure you know all of this already. So why are you here?” Marwyn scrutinised him carefully. 

   “I need answers.”

   “About?” Bruda, instead of answering verbally, waved his hand in a complex pattern and the symbol he had seen on the Wall appeared in the air, formed out of golden wisps of energy.

   “This appeared on the Wall itself. I was wondering whether you could enlighten me about what it may mean.” Marwyn stepped closer to it, looking at it closely. His expression changed as it seemed he recognised it. He quickly bent down and, whilst he was shuffling through the stacks of paper on the floor, he began to speak.

   “I’ve seen that before. It was in a very old text we discovered. I just need to find it.” He continued to search and eventually shouted out in triumph as he found it. He laid it out on the desk, shoving his now forgotten work out of the way. “Look.” He pointed at a drawing of the exact same pattern. “From what I can tell, it’s part of an ancient language. A word from the Children of the Forests themselves. Fire.” Bruda’s eyes lit up at the revelation. Was this confirmation of their hopes of defeating the dead? “I don’t understand why it would be displayed on the Wall though.” The warlock took a moment to think about it.

   “Who constructed the Wall?”

   “All documents claim it was Brandon the Builder, over 8,000 years ago after the end of the first Long Winter. They say he had help from giants and even the Children.” He stopped as he realised what he just said.

   “So, we can assume that Brandon included this message on the behest of the Children of the Forest. The question now is why?”

   “I had a conversation with young Bran Stark not too long ago. He said something interesting. He believes that it was the Children who created the Night King using dragonglass in an attempt to defeat the First Men but he eventually grew too strong and they couldn’t control him any longer.”

   “So they realise their mistake and spread the message on how to defeat them. Hide it in plain sight on the biggest landmark there was. The Wall. But Jon said that he had seen the White Walkers make this pattern themselves.”

   “Why would they purposefully hint at a way to kill them?”

   “I don’t know. Unless...what if the Children were clever? What if they always suspected that it was a distinct possibility that the Night King would outgrow them? So they plant a failsafe. A piece of programming that gets spread across every member of his army. To subconsciously demonstrate their weakness so that, when the time came for people to face them, we would have a chance of winning!”

   “It certainly would explain it,” Marwyn said happily. “Have we...made some progress?”

   “Oh, Archmaester Marwyn. We have done more than that. We’ve cracked the code. Maybe we’re not doomed after all.”


	33. Love and Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations for war pick up speed but that doesn't mean there's no time for Bruda and Daenerys to reminisce.

 “Thank you all for coming so quickly,” Bruda announced to the large group settled in the council room. Daenerys was still giving him questioning looks, something she’d been doing since his urgent summons had found her. That went for everyone really, all waiting with anticipation for what the warlock had to say. There was a nervous energy around the room, with them knowing it would have to do with the war, a prospect that couldn’t be pushed to the back of your mind. Jorah sat by his Khaleesi, as did Tyrion and Varys, who had been quietly discussing something before Bruda had begun talking. The remaining Stark children, including Bran, sat in a small huddle, this being Sansa’s first involvement in a proper meeting like this. Bridging the gap between Stannis, Davos (who still made sure to sit next to his leader so as not to arouse suspicion) and Melisandre, were Mance and Tormund. Marwyn, although invited to attend by Bruda, had stated he needed to continue with his research now that they had further leads to search. None of them asked why they were here, prompting the mage to continue. “I would like to discuss what happened at the Wall, and a recent discovery we made.”

   “About how you cost a man’s life for a pointless journey?” Stannis commented. Daenerys scowled at him but made sure to bite her tongue. Bruda looked at him carefully, trying not to smirk at the bruise that was forming on his head. “Don’t worry, I’ve had all the details divulged to me. If that’s the sole purpose of this...gathering, then I will beg your pardon for my leaving.” He finished with a mocking tone and began to get out of his seat. Bruda, mulling over how Stannis had found out about what happened, waited until he reached the door and opened it. He raised his eyebrows at the Red Woman, who was surprised that the warlock was even acknowledging her existence. Before Stannis could step outside, the warlock clicked his fingers and the door slammed shut in his face. He turned around angrily, glaring at Bruda who had a passive expression on his face. Daenerys was enjoying it very much, thinking of how much she loved that warlock of hers. A stand-off was happening but, with Bruda remaining stubbornly motionless, Stannis eventually gave in and trudged back to his seat, not looking at any of the others as he did so. Bruda slightly turned around and winked at Daenerys, Jorah and Jon, all three trying to smile subtly so that the Baratheon leader wouldn’t notice.

   “Thoros’ death was a tragedy and one that I wish I could undo. Yet, as a seasoned veteran of war yourself, surely you will understand that death is an inevitable part of war. And it will continue to play a part until it is all over. So I  _ beg your pardon _ if I may continue with what I wanted to say.” Stannis stayed silent. “Thank you. As I was saying, our journey to the Wall has given us definitive proof that the White Walkers can get past the Wall.” There were some grumblings from those who hadn’t known that up to that point in time. “And although we have stalled them, it is likely that they’re already past it.” Mance gave a short laugh.

   “So we’re fucking screwed,” he summed up neatly. Bruda inclined his head in his direction.

   “It would appear so. But at least that gives us the motivation now to get everything ready.”

   “We’ll need to organise where each army goes,” Davos pointed out. This was a point that Bruda wanted to address.

   “Not necessarily. We simply cannot approach this as if it is a typical battle. We cannot charge at them, we cannot outflank them, we cannot surprise them.”

   “So what do you suggest we do?” Jorah asked.

   “Keep most of the soldiers within the castle walls. Make it as difficult as possible for them to get to us because, as you will know, they will get stronger with each death on our side. We could have a combination of soldiers just outside the walls, our strongest men.”

   “You want to sacrifice our best men?” Tormund asked skeptically. 

   “Not at all. I’m hoping that the White Walkers won’t get near them.”

   “How do you plan on that happening?” Jon inquired, not sure where he was going with this.

   “Dragonglass. If we build trenches, maybe two or three, around the whole perimeter of Winterfell, then surely they won’t be able to get through.” There were a few nods as people mulled over his proposal. 

   “So you expect us to wait and hide, hoping that they kill themselves. Such a clever tactician,” Stannis said sarcastically, obviously not learning from his previous embarrassment. 

   “Why risk so many lives when we having four fire-breathing monsters at our disposal?” He now looked directly at Daenerys. “I went to speak with Marwyn - we found proof that fire will kill them.” He briefly glanced at Jon, Mance, and Tormund. “That symbol, it’s an old word from the Children of the Forest. It means fire. We have to assume that that means it’s their weakness. Of course, we already believed that to be the case due to peoples’ past altercations with them but it’s always nice to have it spelled out for you.”

   “And if you’re wrong?” Mance asked.

   “Then I’ll pay the price.” He turned back to Daenerys, ignoring her worried look at his last words. “What do you say? I’d understand if you’re not up to flying one of them during a battle.”

   “No. If you say it will give us a better chance, then I’ll do it.”

   “Good. That’s one thing out of the way. You’ll need to be careful though. If he has access to those spears...I don’t know whether the dragons would be able to get out of the way.” She resolutely nodded her head.

   “You’re missing something though,” she said. “You keep saying that we know they’ll get past the Wall. But we don’t know when they’ll get here. Or even if they’ll come here. They might avoid us to get to the capital.” Bruda turned this time to Bran, who was already looking at him serenely.

   “Got that covered.” He stepped closer to the youngest surviving Stark. “Marwyn said something else that was interesting. That you’ve been able to see into his past. And you’ve said before that you supposedly have a connection with him.”

   “I’ll be able to tell when he’s getting closer,” Bran said, practically reading Bruda’s mind.

   “Is it a one way connection though? We can’t afford him learning anything about what we have planned.”

   “I’m...not sure. All I can tell is that he wants me, or something to do with me. When he gets here, and he’ll come because of me, maybe we could use me as bait. Direct him to a certain part of the grounds.” Bruda didn't like that suggestion, not least because of how it sounded Bran wanted to meet him.

   “Out of the question.”

   “But it would ensure he comes.”

   “I don’t think you understand. I said, no!” He finished with a shout, taking everyone by surprise. Daenerys’ expression turned even more concerned. “My priority is not to ensure that you get to have your time with him. I don’t care if that’s the main purpose of you being here. I don’t care if that’s the one thing you really want. I don’t even care that you call yourself the Three Eyed Raven! I am not risking everyone’s lives so that you can live out the fantasies inside your head!” The room was silent, even Bran, who opted not to respond to the tirade. Bruda took a moment to compose himself. “I’ll need someone to watch you. We need to know as soon as possible when you’re able to reach out to him.”

   “I could do it.” Sansa put her hand up, the first involvement she had made in the conversation. Bruda sent her a soft but sad smile. 

   “I don’t think you’ll be here.” He looked at Jon, who caught on to what he was implying. Sansa followed his eye line and stared accusingly at her brother.

   “What do you mean?” she asked.

   “I think what Bruda is trying to say is that anyone who can’t fight shouldn’t be here.”

   “Exactly. There’s no need risking your lives when you won’t add anything to our numbers. You’d end up distracting people who can, resulting in more deaths than just your own.”

   “There are fortresses that are unoccupied at the moment further south that are owned by Stark allies,” Jon reasoned. “They could all go there.” Bruda looked at Tyrion and Varys.

   “Tyrion, Varys. I’d expect you to go as well, with anyone too young, too old or too frail to fight.” He could tell that Tyrion was going to object so raised his hand. “Not just because of the reasons I just outlined but because, if the worst happens and we fall, you need to send the message to King’s Landing to make them aware. So that our attempts aren’t in vain.”

   “We understand,” Varys said on behalf of them both, with Tyrion’s face losing some of the initial anger. 

   “Thank you. One more thing. Do not share tactics. Based on what we saw, we believe they gather information from the bodies they take over. So, if they were to kill one of us during the battle, we’d be on a ticking clock.”

   “So try to limit the number of people who know,” Davos finished for him.

   “Basically. But that won’t matter once we’re fighting. We have to finish them off before he resurrects our soldiers. Meaning we’ve got plenty to do then. We need to get started.”

**********

   Everyone had filed out of the council, going off in separate directions to spread the message of what needed to be done now. Digging out the trenches would obviously be the main priority until they were finished but the remaining dragonglass needed to be forged into more weapons and defences to fill the trenches as well. Melisandre had even suggested that wooden spikes would be beneficial to put in or around them as they’d be able to set them on fire. It was all coming together but Bruda still had the knowledge it wouldn’t likely be enough. That would be down to him and he was dreading the time when he would need to divulge his last remaining secret. He knew that day was approaching fast. He was hoping that someone would figure it out before he had to say it to everyone. 

   He was alone in the council room, taking a moment to himself. He looked at his hands, noting how wrinkly they were getting. By the gods, he was getting old. He had one last battle in him. Then he’d take some much needed time off. He was almost looking forward to that prospect. Turning around, he realised that he was not, as he thought, alone in the large room. Daenerys was stood by the door, with her arms folded, staring at him. What had he done this time?

   “Are you alright, Daenerys? I thought that you would have gone off with Jorah.”

   “He said he was going to help with digging the trenches. He claims that it is no place for me and that they have plenty of people on hand to get it done.”

   “And you didn't slap him?” he asked with a light tone. Her stern expression slipped as she smirked for a moment.

   “I can have some restraint at times,” she argued. He gave her a questioning look. “I can!” 

   “I say that’s special treatment. Just think, you didn't have much restraint when you slapped me before,” he said accusingly. He was sure that his cheek was still stinging where she had hit him. 

   “You deserved it. I needed to get it across to you how much you mean to me. Taking so many unnecessary risks...it is not down to you to save everyone, Bruda.”  _ If only she knew.  _

   “You should know, I can tell that you do...care about me.” He hated all this soppy talk. Give him a White Walker any day of the week.

   “Do you though? Can you comprehend how much it would devastate me if you were to die?” She walked up to him slowly.

   “I’m sure you’d much rather have Jorah survive than me,” he said but the joke fell flat and her expression darkened.

   “If you say anything as stupid or hurtful as that again, I will slap you even harder than last time.” She accentuated her points by prodding him in the chest with her finger at every word she said even with him holding her arms. “Jorah has been with me much longer than you, that’s true. And I love him dearly; I don’t know how I would cope if he were to die as well. And what would make it worse is that he would gladly die for me so I would end up blaming myself. So yes, I do not want him to die. Obviously. But to even suggest that I would want you to perish in his place. What sort of a monster do you think I am?” She had tears in her eyes and he hated himself for making her feel this way. 

   “I don’t think you’re a monster. At all. But if you could only save one of us…”

   “I’d rather sacrifice myself.”

   “Don’t you dare. If ever it came to that, don’t you dare. You are so much more important than me or Jorah. You’re the only reason we’re here, Daenerys.”

   “But I care for you. I love you deeply. Almost as much as Jorah.” That took him by surprise. It had been a very long time since anyone had used that word in connection to him. “You’ve protected me for a long time now. Even before you knew me, you were helping me against the Harpies.”

   “You’re the first person I have cared for properly since Isabella. Now that’s a very long time for me to be alone with such cold feelings. So, for you to make me realise that those sorts of feelings weren’t beyond me...you have helped me more than you can ever know.” She relaxed a little bit and melted into his embrace. He looked up at the ceiling as he kissed the top of her head softly. “But you touched upon the main thing. I’ve been protecting you. Not the other way around. It is my job to make sure you stay alive. The same goes for Jorah. I’d rather you mourn my death and be alive than you dying on my behalf.”

   “It’s not fair though.”

   “I know, I know. Not many things are, sadly. But, one day, you’ll be sat upon that Iron Throne and this will all be worth it.”

   “Only if you’re by my side.”

   “I hope I’m there too.” A silence ensued as they stayed together before Daenerys awkwardly removed herself, not looking at Bruda for fear of embarrassment. What must he think of her right now? She was acting like a little girl in front of him. But he had returned her sentiments. And there was an underlying message. He loved her as well. That was enough for her. It didn't have to be said. She knew he wasn’t the type of person to voice such feelings. She eventually brought herself to look at him, her brain thinking back to another topic she wanted to cover.

   “Bruda...you’ve made it pretty clear that you haven’t told me the entire truth about yourself. You told me to think back to our previous conversations but I can’t figure it out. Why can’t you tell me?” Her voice was pleading, which made it more difficult for him. He could tell her. She would understand. Then he’d be able to relax, knowing that she knew the real him for the first time. But it wasn’t the right time. He knew it had to be said when there was no time left. When darkness falls and the dead rise. 

   “I just...can’t. Believe me, Daenerys - I want to. I truly want to. You will know soon. Trust me, I have never lied to you. I am what you see. There’s just more to it.”

   “You’re just waiting for the best time,” she reasoned, begrudgingly. He nodded his head and took a seat, thankful that she understood to a certain extent. She followed his actions and looked at him across the table. “I’ll be here waiting for that time, then.”

   “Thank you.” He thought that would be the end of their conversation but he could tell from the look on her face that something else was troubling her. He waited until she was ready to voice her concerns.

   “Are you scared?” In that moment, he saw for what she truly was. A young woman thrust into a position that didn't suit someone her age. Yet she handled it so well. All the difficulties she had been through, and he was only drawing on the events he had witnessed. It was only right that she be able to let out her frustrations and fears, and he was perfectly willing to hear them. He was proud of her.

   “Petrified,” he admitted, which surprised her and made her feel a bit better. If the warlock was scared, after seeing all that he had seen, then maybe she wasn’t being a coward. 

   “At least I’m not the only one.”

   “Everyone out there will be terrified. We’re facing a foe that can’t be killed and can convert our men to his side. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t scared.” She smiled at his levity. “But you shouldn’t worry. We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we? Harpies, the Iron Bank, sieges. And we’ve got through everything. I’ll make sure you get through this too.” And in that moment, she truly believed him.

**********

   Work began almost immediately on building the trenches. Soldiers from all sets of armies, be they under the flag of Baratheon, from North of the Wall, members of the Unsullied, Dothraki savages or even men of the Golden Company, had been tasked to start digging. As Bruda had outlined, three circular trenches were being built to encompass the entirety of Winterfell. Despite the cold conditions, good, early progress was being made. Many of the men were just thankful for something to do, almost bored with staying in their camps and waiting for the day of battle. The Hound was making the most progress due to his superior size and strength, relishing in the fact he was getting so muddy. He’d spent too long with Dondarrion - he needed to remember he was a fighter. He picked up a large wooden spike from a nearby pile and shoved it into the wet ground, banging on it with a crude piece of metal to make it stay in. He made it so it was at an angle like the other ones he had already put in, guessing it would make them more effective in taking out Wights.

   “Make sure the spikes are all touching.” A feminine voice came from behind him and he turned around quickly to see who it was. Melisandre, who had been observing the work being done whilst walking along each trench as she felt that she needed to be more involved in the process, was the one who had spoken. Clegane just grunted in response, not wanting to take notice of the strange woman. She had never interacted with him before. Who was she to tell him how to do his job? “It will be easier to spread the fire when the time comes if they’re connected,” she explained but he wasn’t listening for a different reason now. The mention of fire had spooked him, thinking back to the painful memory of when he got his wounds. He had been powerless as his brother pushed him into the flames. He still remembered his own screams. The Red Woman picked up on his apparent unease. “Is something the matter?”

   “Will you just fuck off?” he responded impatiently, annoyed that he was so troubled by his past. A show of weakness. “Why are you even here? Wandering around? Waste of fucking space, if you ask me.” She ignored his insults, seeing them as just deflections. She looked at him properly, searching for answers.

   “A fear of fire. Based on a traumatic moment in your childhood. Anyone would be scared.”

   “I’m not fucking scared.”

   “Yet you now realise that fire can have a purpose. You’ve looked into the flames, just as I have, and have been greeted by the Lord. You find it improbable that something so destructive could have a use.” He threw his shovel onto the ground and stepped over to her quickly. To be fair to her, she stood her ground, even despite his larger size.

   “If you carry on talking, you’ll be the first to test whether these spikes are sharp enough. Now fuck off.” He finished with a roar and, after a brief moment of looking at him, the Red Woman began to walk away, leaving Sandor to contemplate her words.

   Further along the trench were Jaime and Brienne, who were busy digging as well. Bronn, not wanting to get himself too muddy and stating that he deserved to enjoy himself before he likely died, had instead decided to help test the new swords that were being made deep below Winterfell. Jaime was thankful for that, noting how the sellsword would be useless at this task. Probably more so than he was, struggling to grip the spade properly with his golden hand. Brienne was trying to focus on her work but could constantly feel a pair of eyes on her. She eventually decided to look up and saw the wildling, Tormund, staring at her lecherously. It seemed that he was trying to go at double the standard speed in an attempt to impress her. She simply rolled her eyes and ignored him, causing him to pout.

   “It looks like you have an admirer,” Jaime noted, humour evident in his voice. She frowned at him, wishing that someone else was the one to notice her in that way.

   “I don’t know why. I haven’t given him the time of day,” she complained. 

   “Maybe he thinks you’re playing hard to get. Tell him to bugger off and he actually might do so.”

   “I don’t know...I guess it’s kind of sweet. I’m not used to people looking at me like he does.”

   “I wouldn’t have taken you for the sort of person who would want that.”  _ And that was the crux of the matter _ , she thought bitterly. She just sighed and continued digging, Jaime copying her actions. He allowed the silence between them to settle, the only sound being metal breaking the dirt around them. “You know...there’s talk going around that they’re telling people to flee south.”

   “And your point is?” she responded testily, wondering where he was going with this.

   “Well...would you consider it? I’d like to know that you were safe.” She stopped digging and glared at him. She pointed her spade at him from close proximity. 

   “I’m just as accomplished as you at holding a sword in a fight, thank you very much.”

   “I don’t doubt that for one second, even if I did have a full collection of hands. But you’ve never faced these monsters before. It won’t be like a normal fight.”

   “You have never fought them either!” she responded. “Why are you so adamant that I leave? Is it because I’m a woman?”

   “No! It’s just that I don’t want you risking your life. You didn't sign up for this. You could go back to King’s Landing, ask to fight on behalf of the king. Have a position of honour that you deserve.”

   “Have you banged your head? I would much rather stay here and fight for a just cause than sacrifice my morals for some over-indulged, snotty-nosed little runt.” She remembered who she was talking about and to. “Sorry. I shouldn’t speak about your nephew like that.” He just laughed.

   “It was quite enjoyable actually. Your forehead creases in a peculiar way when you get angry.” She hastily tried covering that part of her face. “That’s just an option. You could travel. Get away from here.”

   “Jaime, I am not going. Nothing you can say will change that fact. I was born to fight so that’s what I will do, not run away.” He bowed his head, upset that he hadn’t been able to change her mind. She observed him carefully, thinking that there might be more to it than just him wanting her to stay alive. Maybe he would never look at her the way she wanted him to, but at least she could tell he cared for her.

***********

   With so many armies currently housed in Winterfell, it took a lot of work and energy to feed all the soldiers. Food stations, the main one being set up in the courtyard, were scattered across the grounds, meaning that everyone had access to their share of the rations. They never expected anything tasty, just something that did the job. An army on an empty stomach was one that would lose. It was Davos’ turn to run the primary station. He had gladly volunteered, wanting to help out in any fashion that he could. And he was able to not only tolerate the brutish language of the soldiers, but also often take part in it. It was usually a fairly pleasant task, getting to speak to many people from different backgrounds. But today there was hanging shadow over his job. Along with the food he was handing out, it was now time to give every person that came up who would be involved in the battle their dragonglass weapons. That meant the people he was used to speaking to were now faces of those who probably wouldn’t be alive for much longer. It was a sobering thought and one that he tried really hard to put at the back of his mind. So far, he had been unsuccessful. 

   Ser Barristan Selmy walked up to the temporary shelter, smiling when he saw it was Davos on duty. “Evening, Seaworth,” he greeted. Davos returned the smile quickly, even though he wasn’t in the mood to do so, and began preparing a bowl of stew for the knight.

   “Hopefully this keeps you warm tonight,” he said. “That cold is drawing in. Think yourself lucky that you have a room inside those walls. The amount of men who come here complaining about the shoddiness of their tents. And I’m making sure not to use the same sort of language as they normally do.” Barristan laughed loudly, accepting the proffered bowl.

   “I would gladly sleep in the same conditions if I had to. War isn’t a time of luxuries.” He took a quick sip of the watery substance. “Which is evidenced by the state of the food.”

   “I can take it off your hands if you want,” Davos warned. “I’m sure someone would enjoy it.” Selmy held it close to his chest, sending the message that he wouldn’t allow that to happen. “I need to give you this as well.” He produced a longsword that was in a wooden crate and displayed it to Barristan. The main body of it was plain metal but all around the edge was sharp dragonglass. It had a certain terrifying beauty about it. Selmy tentatively took a hold of it and slowly swung it, moving it from side to side to test its weight. 

   “Must mean we’re getting close,” he remarked, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I’ll have to make sure that my armour still fits. Good day, Ser Davos.” He received a curt nod in response before he left. Davos sighed.  

   “Can I get one of those?” Davos didn't know where the voice came from. It was particularly quiet and timid but certainly had a stubbornness to it. He peered over the serving hatch and looked down to see a young girl dressed in scruffy clothes. She had a very strong Northern accent despite her age so he presumed that she must be part of the Free Folk contingent. She was younger than Shireen but he couldn’t help being reminded of her. He definitely needed to somehow see the young Baratheon before she left.

   “Get one of what?” he asked confused.

   “One of those sharp things. I’ve seen people getting them. If I’m going to fight, I’ll need one.”

   “You want to fight?” He was very perplexed by this girl.

   “Of course!”

   “I don’t think they’ll allow you to fight. You’re much too young.”

   “I am not! My brother gets to fight and he’s only twelve years older. It’s not fair.” Davos smiled at the girl. He decided to try a different approach.

   “Do you have a mother?”

   “Yes.” Children were never ones for unnecessarily long answers.

   “Well, you’ve got an important job then. No doubt you’ll be leaving here soon with your mother but you still have to protect her. A strong girl like you won’t turn down such a crucial task.” She was thinking about it for sure. “I tell you what…” He rummaged through the crate next to him and found a small piece of crude dragonglass that hadn’t been incorporated into a sword or dagger. “Take this. Be careful with it. That’s to help you but only when you really need it. You can only have it if you promise to go with your mother though.” 

   “Yes, sir!” He handed it to her and she turned it over in her hands, inspecting it with excited eyes. He filled up a bowl of stew, filling it up more than he usually would.

   “Now take this and run off,” he said and she did as she was told. He watched her with a sad smile as she traveled into the distance. As he was looking out, he noticed Jorah walking through the courtyard so he shouted him over. He’d been looking forward to this. The Mormont knight veered away from his previous destination to see what Davos wanted. 

   “You shouted,” he said suspiciously. Instead of answering verbally, Davos bent down and picked up the thin box on the floor by his feet. He placed it on the wooden panel in front of him, still not saying a word. Jorah gave him a skeptical look before slowly opening it. Inside was a pristine longsword, wider and lengthier than his current one. He stroked the silver and black hilt, observing how it had been forged into the shape of a bear and a dragon side by side. It was a magnificent creation but he didn't know why he was looking at it. He glanced at Davos questioningly.

   “Daenerys left this for you. She was made aware that you don’t have access to Longclaw because of your...history with your father. She said that Jon had offered to give it you back but she refused, knowing that you’d never take it back. Instead, she went down to the metal forge and had this made for you using a piece of Valyrian steel. Count yourself lucky - I have no idea where she would have found any.”

   “It looks expensive.”

   “She didn't mention the price. Said that you’d complain otherwise.”

   “It’s a wonderful gift.” He realised what it symboled - he had been accepted into a new family. He felt the sting of tears and quickly looked away. “I...I should try and find her. She should know how grateful I am.” A brief nod later and Jorah was on his way.

   “I think you know of a way of showing her that, if you know what I mean!” Davos shouted, wanting to tease his friend. He laughed as Jorah picked up his pace. It was good to have these moments, simple moments where you got to enjoy yourself, especially before a war. He dearly hoped he’d get to have some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be focused on saying farewell (for the time being) to those who aren't fighting against the White Walkers. Who would you like to see share a moment together? Are there any characters you'd like to see interact before the battle? What do you think Bruda's secret is? Comment with any ideas - I'd love to incorporate some. And as ever, please comment with any thoughts about the story so far - it keeps me motivated to keep writing!


	34. Repairs and Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for people to leave Winterfell and that always would cause a few tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very soppy chapter, this one. Be thankful because it's only going to get worse for our favourite characters

 Tyrion stood awkwardly outside the large tent, the main source of light being the ethereal glow from the moon in the inky black sky. Soldiers laughing loudly, no doubt due to the amount of alcohol the had consumed that evening, walked by, not noticing the small man. He was thankful for that. He didn't need questions being asked. Especially from drunk brutes. Tyrion had been avoiding this meeting for a long time but he knew that, with him leaving in the morning to travel to a supposed sanctuary before the battle took place, it would probably be his last chance to talk to him. He’d been stood outside for quite a while, trying to process the thoughts that were spinning through his mind. His brain was usually his greatest asset but, for once, he couldn’t fathom what he was going to say. He worried about the sort of reaction he would get. It would likely be disgust. He remembered the last time they had seen each other. So much had changed since then. Back then, he didn't have any idea who Daenerys was. He thought that tales of White Walkers and giants were just stories, not a very real foe that faced them. He’d argue that he was a better person now than he was back then. It wasn’t difficult to be so though.

   He contemplated walking away, taking the coward’s option to avoid the potential awkwardness. He took a step back but, as he did so, the man he had come to see emerged from the tent. Hunched over to get through the low entrance, Jaime Lannister came eye to eye with Tyrion and stopped abruptly. He had a shocked and surprised expression on his face, the last thing he expected being this surprising arrival. He’d planned to go find Bronn, join him by a fire with other soldiers whilst drinking their worries away. He guessed that wouldn’t be a possibility now. Jaime thought about ignoring his brother. It would be easy to act as if he wasn’t actually there and just keep on walking. But then he saw the guilty and pleading look on Tyrion’s face and thought better of it. He stepped further outside, not saying anything, as he began to get the nearby fire started. As he did so, Tyrion, taking this as a non-verbal invitation for him to say, sat down on the wooden bench next to it. He watched in silence as his brother worked, eventually a small flame being created that soon grew to a reasonable size, sending a much-needed warmth through the air. Jaime continued to busy himself even though he had finished, moving stuff around just to occupy himself. 

   “I take it you’re leaving tomorrow,” he began, still not looking at Tyrion. It was easier for him that way.

   “I am. I didn't want to at first. But the warlock thought it was the best idea for me.”

   “You’ve changed. The last thing you’d want in the past was to be told what to do. You very rarely listened.” Tyrion smirked, thinking back on what he had been like in the capital.

   “I’ve found that change is sometimes for the better.” Jaime didn't respond, silence ensuing for a brief moment. “I must thank you again.” For the first time, Jaime properly looked at his brother.

   “Why?”

   “Have you really forgotten? For saving me all that time ago. Rescuing me from my cell. I’d have been a dead man long ago if it wasn’t for you.” 

   “Like I’d leave you there. I can tell whether you are guilty and you certainly weren’t back then. I wouldn’t let my brother die for a crime he didn't commit.” Despite all that had happened, there was still that love shared between them.

   “Even with Cersei pressuring for my execution?” Hearing her name stung. He’d been trying to forget about her.

   “Cersei was losing herself at that time. Even then, I could see it. The power she had was infecting her like a poison.”

   “Which is why you left her.” It was Jaime’s turn to look guilty. 

   “There were a number of reasons. I couldn’t stand by and let her destroy the family name whilst I was still there.” He didn't want to just say outright that he’d done it out of self-preservation.

   “The family name had already been tarnished enough. But I can understand why you did it. And it seems that the power eventually caught up to her. It can consume even the strongest of people and she was always weaker than she thought.” Jaime didn't want to think about her death. How scared she must have been. It often kept him up at night. Tyrion picked up on this. “I don’t blame you for her death either. That was all her own doing.” 

   “I don’t blame you for father’s death either.” Tyrion’s eyes widened. “How much of a fool do you think I am? Of all the people who wanted him gone, you’d be the only with the balls big enough to do the job whilst he was on the shitter.” He laughed. “But, as you said, it was his own doing.” Tyrion was surprised that Jaime was so flippant about his actions. 

   “I’m sorry that I haven’t been to see you sooner. I wish I had an excuse,” he attempted lamely.

   “It’s not if I tried any harder. It’s been a difficult time. At least you made the effort now.” Jaime gave him a small smile. “Of all the places I thought I’d see you again, this was not what I pictured. You working on behalf of a Targaryen and me fleeing King’s Landing.”

   “I’m sure father is looking down upon us and laughing. Or probably looking up.”

   “That Daenerys is certainly a firecracker.”

   “Exceptionally so. I must tell you, she knows about your history with her family.” Jaime grimaced. “She also realises what sort of a man her father was. She does not want to turn out like him.”

   “I’ll have to take your word for it until the day comes she has the same level of power.”

   “If we get through this.”

   “We will. We’re not having to rely on your fighting skills.” Even though Jaime laughed, Tyrion could see tears in his eyes. He stood up and walked over to his brother and, ignoring the questioning look he got, he hugged him. The action was reciprocated and they stayed in that embrace for a long period of time, Jaime kissing him softly on the side of his face. “Be safe, Tyrion,” he murmured.

   “It’s more important that you are, Jaime. Goodbye, brother.”

***********

   The day had come for people to leave Winterfell and so Davos needed to hurry. Melisandre had been strangely cooperative when he had asked her kindly to occupy Stannis’ time for a short while. The only way he’d be able to see Shireen was if her father was distracted long enough after their argument. The Red Woman was, therefore, the perfect person to do the job, being the closest to the Baratheon. Stannis’ attitude had definitely improved towards him but he didn't want to take any risks, especially when it came to his daughter. He would never forgive himself if he didn't say goodbye to her before she left, even if it meant sacrificing his political relationship further. 

   Looking around the dark corridor to make sure no one was around to see him, he knocked quietly on her door. “Princess,” he murmured so that she would know it was him, whilst he continued to scan the immediate area. She was quick to open the door, greeting him with a large smile. He entered the room immediately, closing the door straight away with the lock. She gave him an alarmed look, worried and scared as to what he was about to do. He eyed her bag already packed with clothes and numerous books. “Look, princess. I don’t have a lot of time. Your father and I are still not on the best of terms, as you well know. But I had to send you off before you leave.”

   “I’m glad you came, Ser Davos. I love my mother dearly but I’m afraid her conversation isn’t as entertaining as yours. I fear the journey is going to be dreadfully dull.” He chuckled, enjoying how she could still worry about things such as entertainment at a time like this. He stepped over to her bag and picked up the first heavy tome he saw. 

   “I’m sure you will have plenty of stuff to occupy your time with, judging from the number and size of books you’ve got here.”

   “I didn't want to leave any behind. The worst thing in the world is an unfinished story. That’s what the old warlock said anyway.” Davos looked at her in confusion.

   “You’ve spoken to Bruda?” He could only imagine how he’d interact with a child. Doing so in a group was one thing, but alone, without the ire of Daenerys bearing down on him, was another matter completely.

   “He came to see me soon after that wonderful time with the dragons. He gave me this.” She nudged Davos out of the way as she reached into the bottom of her bag, eventually finding what she was looking for. She produced a small, leather-bound book and handed it to the older man. He flicked through it and saw that all the pages were empty. He gave her another questioning glance. “He said that when I finally run out of stories to read, I should try to write my own. Let loose my imagination, he said. He told me it was from you but he was delivering it because you weren’t allowed to see me.” He couldn’t believe Bruda had done such a thing. He’d have to thank him profusely when he next saw him. He was truly an amazing person.

   “Have you thought about what you might write?” he asked, still gazing at the book.

   “I was thinking that I could tell the world about my very own knight,” she answered with a smile.

   “And who might this gentleman be?”

   “You, Ser Davos. Of course.” She said it as if it was the only thing that made sense. It took him aback and left him speechless. He had definitely not expected that.

   “I’m no knight, princess,” he said, trying to correct her.

   “You’re staying behind to fight the monsters. To me, that’s what only the best knight would do.”

   “I’m not exactly a good swordsman.” He just couldn’t accept such praise from one of the few people who truly mattered to him.

   “Which will make my story even better. How my knight was braver than all the others despite never being the best. How he showed them to be all wrong as he defeated the horrid creatures. And continued to protect his princess.” She stood there, chin up, in a regal position before succumbing to her giggles. He couldn’t help but smile at her. He bent down on one knee and hugged her tightly, not letting her see the unshed tears in his eyes.

   “I will do my very best to live up to your expectations,” he whispered. She pushed him away gently and looked into his eyes.

   “You already have. Reading all those tales, I could only have dreamed to have a protector like you.”

   “Have you still got those wooden figurines I gave you?” He felt that, if the worst were to happen, then they’d act as a good reminder of him.

   “Oh yes!” She rushed back to her bag once again and soon found them both. “I almost forgot. That would have been a shame.” She held out the small dragon towards him, only receiving an inquiring look in response. “Hold out your hand!” He did so and she placed the gift on his palm. “You need this more than me right now. The old man said that I shouldn’t worry too much about you because the dragons will protect you. So I thought that you’d be even safer with one more dragon by your side.” He slowly closed his fingers around the object. “And it also means that you have to give it back to me when you next see me.” There was the main message. He had to come back to her. He had to survive the battle.

   “I promise.” He realised that his time was running out. He didn't want to leave. But he had to be the knight. “I think it’s time that I leave you, princess. Be careful on your travels. And be patient with your mother.” She hugged him again, somehow even tighter this time. 

   “Only because you say so.” She pecked him lightly on the cheek, causing them both to blush a soft pink. “Be brave, Ser Davos.”

**********

   Sansa sighed as she looked around her room and at the expansive landscape that filled her window. She had worked so hard and had been through so much, to get back to her home at Winterfell and now she was being forced away from it. At least the last time she had left, it had been through her own volition. Now, it just felt...wrong. And she knew that it was definitely the right thing to do. The warlock and her brother had explained it to her quite clearly. That didn't mean it hurt any less. Starks were meant to stand for and protect this old castle. She was, technically, the last remaining Stark, with Bran claiming he had renounced all claims to the titles and land that came with being the head of the house by becoming this Three-Eyed Raven. She tried not to think about it too much. It was just another confusing thing that had happened to her recently. To think that her main priorities had been to marry a prince and now she was in a world where warlocks, mystical beings, and monsters actually existed. 

   She was lost in her own world, contemplating how much her life had changed (something she did increasingly more regularly), as she surveyed her room, now void of all personality and belongings. So much so, that she didn't notice Jon standing in the doorway the first time she looked there. As he came into focus, she gasped in surprise and placed a hand on her chest to compose herself. Jon smirked at her response and stepped into her room. 

   “You know how to scare a girl, Jon,” she exclaimed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, patting the space next to her. He took notice of the silent instruction and sat by her side. She immediately rested her head on his shoulder, a move he never would have thought conceivable when they were younger. Sansa had been shaped by her mother, a woman who went to little effort to hide the distaste she felt towards Jon and what his existence represented. Yet recently, they had grown exceptionally close, coming together in grief after Arya’s untimely death. They spent most of their time in each other’s company and she was the main person he missed when he traveled to the Wall with Bruda and company. Now he was potentially seeing her for the last time. He didn't want that to be the main context of this conversation though.

   “Maybe you should be focused on your surroundings,” he retorted, nudging her slightly.

   “Maybe you should announce your arrival more readily,” she said, nudging him back. 

   “But then I wouldn’t get to see your reaction, like the one just then. That was probably the best so far.” She rolled her eyes at his antics. “Are you all set to leave? I think the carts are almost ready. Bruda’s working overtime to make sure there’s enough for everyone. He should be resting more than he is.” His voice carried a worried tone.

   “I was about to head outside. I was just taking it in for the last time.”

   “You’ll be back here before you know it.” She lifted her head up to look at him.

   “You don’t know that for sure.”

   “It’s like you don’t have any faith in us or something.” He tried making light of the situation, even though they both knew his heart wasn’t in it.

   “I don’t have any doubts about your fighting capabilities. And I know that there are many competent soldiers here to stand by your side. But I’ve heard the Free Folk talk in hushed tones. Some of the women have even allowed me to sit with them whilst they share stories about those...creatures you’re going to face. This isn’t war. This is slaughter.”

   “Even if that’s the case, we have to try and take them on. The odds are against us but we can’t sit idly by as they destroy the kingdom. Do you think father would turn and run away?”

   “He’s dead because he thought he could beat something too powerful, instead of saving himself. You don’t have to travel along the same path.” She wished with all her heart that he would just join her and go south before the White Walkers got here. 

   “The monsters he faced used words as weapons and struck him in the back. I’d rather take my chances with foes who come straight at you.”

   “Foes that can’t die,” she pointed out, still hoping she could convince him.

   “Bruda feels confident that they can be killed. He reckons that they might not even reach the castle if we’re lucky.”

   “Listen to yourself. Thinking that luck will favour you. Look at the position we’re in. We have lost everything because luck has never been on our side.”

   “We have each other. And right now, that’s all that matters. That’s why I have to stay and fight. To make sure you have the best chance of surviving.” She leaned into him once again, defeated.

   “You’re not going to see reason, are you?”

   “I already have. You can’t change my mind, Sansa. I can’t let these people down.”

   “People you hardly know.” She wanted to be selfish, to just tell him that she wanted him with her. She knew it was the wrong sentiment but she didn't care. 

   “Frankly, they were the first people to accept me.” She gave him a hurt look. “Don’t look at me like that. You know what it was like before I left Winterfell. I was the black sheep. The white wolf.” His thoughts turned to Ghost, who hadn’t listened when he tried to get him to run to the forest to avoid the war. “But I found people. It was difficult but it was worth it. They need me just as much as I need them.”

   “But they’re not your family,” she whispered.

   “I’ve realised, after all this time, that your family ties don’t define you. Men of the Night’s Watch, removed from society, are some of the bravest people I know. Daenerys wants to remove herself from her family’s past. Jorah was removed from his family. Davos lost his. As did Bruda. But they’re staying to fight, not because of familial commitment or honour, but because it is the right thing to do. I’m one of them, no matter how hard you try to convince me otherwise. In a sense, I guess they’re my family. ” In that moment, Sansa saw Jon for the man he had become, so vastly different to the one she had known. The noblest of men despite the circumstances of his birth. She realised that she couldn’t stand in his way and she didn't want to now. She just prayed that he would survive so that she could begin to show him that she could be a part of his family as well.

**********

   The courtyard was full of people saying their farewells. As a steady line of carts pulled by horses left the castle grounds through the open gates, Daenerys, with Jorah and Bruda on each side, watched the interactions taking place. The impact of war was clear to see. It was a hurtful sight, especially when observing the Free Folk; children were being made to leave their fathers, wives forced to say goodbye to their husbands and parents bidding farewell to their sons. She tried to compose herself whilst watching these people she didn't know embrace one another, all fearing that it would be their last time together. She leaned into Jorah, who wrapped his arm around her shoulders, an uncharacteristic show of compassion towards her in public. She guessed he must have known how much this was affecting her. Jorah looked down at the new sword hanging by his sword and back to the woman next to him.

   “I haven’t thanked you yet, Khaleesi,” he murmured softly. She looked up in confusion, her brow furrowing.

   “For what?”

   “For the sword. Davos handed it to me yesterday. It’s gorgeous but surely it’s too much.”

   “You should be thanking Bruda more than me.” It was his turn to look puzzled. He glanced over at the warlock, who shifted his staff slightly. It looked shorter than usual. 

   “Where do you think she got the Valyrian steel from?” he asked, looking straight forward and not at the knight. 

   “Won’t it have damaged it? That’s more important than me having a new sword.”

   “It still functions perfectly fine. It would probably still work with a small piece of steel but then I’d lose my flamboyancy and showmanship. Sometimes that’s all I have.” It seemed that Bruda didn't want to dwell on the small sacrifice he had made so Jorah stopped his line of inquiry. They watched as Davos entered the courtyard, searching for someone. He became relaxed as he saw Shireen sat in a cart with her mother, taking a risk by giving her a small wave. He got one in return enthusiastically. He also waved at a younger girl who they’d never seen before, before joining them to watch as people left. He needn’t have worried about being inconspicuous as Stannis was nowhere to be seen, something that was greatly annoying Daenerys. She turned to his Hand.

   “Where is Stannis?” she inquired, a hint of contempt in her voice.

   “No clue,” he responded. “I presumed he would be out here, at least to say goodbye to his family.”

   “Maybe he did so in private,” Jorah reasoned. Daenerys huffed in response.

   “Even if that’s the case, you’d expect him to show his face to the people that are giving up so much to fight on his behalf.”

   “It’s just another reason why you’ll be a better ruler,” Bruda said, trying to placate her. It worked but only because she was soon distracted by the arrival of Missandei. The two women embraced one another tightly, forgetting all cordiality and properness that was supposed to define their relationship.

   “You have to get through this,” the former slave said. “There’s so many people waiting in this kingdom to have a ruler like you. I’ve been lucky enough to already see your fairness and warmth in action. I know it doesn’t end here.” She carried a resolute tone in her voice.

   “But, if something does happen,” Daenerys tried to reason, “you must spread the message you carry. One of hope to people who haven’t felt that in a long time.”

   “I’m sure Tyrion will help me with that.” Daenerys quirked an eyebrow up at that admission, causing Missandei to look away with a small smile. 

   “Are you travelling with him and Varys?” she asked with a knowing smirk. Missandei nodded.

   “He said they’d welcome me with open arms, full drinks and long stories that will go on through the night. Should I be concerned?”

   “All that matters is that they will protect you.”

   “And you certainly have that covered too.” She looked at the men by her side. She first gave Jorah a quick hug, surprising him as they’d never really interacted properly. She smiled warmly at Bruda, who have her his customary pat on the shoulder and a wink. Davos, being the gentleman he always, bowed down and planted a soft kiss on her outstretched hand. Missandei blushed, thinking back to how he had greeted her in the same fashion the first time they had met. She was about to leave when they noticed her travel companions walking towards them so she reasoned that they’d go together. Tyrion went straight to Daenerys, bowing awkwardly. 

   “My Queen,” he said in greeting but also as a farewell. 

   “Look after her,” she returned, tilting her head to the girl stood waiting. 

   “As always. And look after yourself. Otherwise this whole enterprise will have been a wasted trip.” She wanted to laugh at Tyrion’s quip but was too distracted by Varys’ actions. He was stood next to Bruda, whispering something into his ear. The warlock’s demeanour changed instantly at whatever he said before he gave a curt nod of the head. Varys gave him a solemn look and placed his hand on his shoulder. 

   “It has been a pleasure,” she could hear him say. Daenerys frowned at the warlock but he ignored her for now. The three of them finished their farewells and they were soon waved off as their cart started moving. The courtyard was beginning to empty but Daenerys wasn’t finished just yet. She turned to Bruda and he knew what she wanted to ask before she said it.

   “What did Varys say to you?”

   “He figured it out. He knows.”

   “Knows? What do you mean? Knows what?” But the look he gave her answered her question and her breath hitched slightly.  _ His last secret. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it. The war is close but Bruda still has one more confession to make. Do you have any ideas as to what it could be? Do you want to see any particular characters have some conversations before the battle takes place? Comment below with any thoughts. It's been a while since I've seen any!


	35. Secrets and Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destinies are revealed and altered as darkness falls

Bruda sat alone in the council room, lost in thought as he looked at the grey, stone walls. After his confession about Varys’ discovery, Daenerys had been constantly pestering him to finally tell her what he was hiding. He had quickly escaped her questioning and taken refuge where he thought she wouldn’t look for him. It was a difficult time for him, with his fate weighing down on him heavily. He needed this moment alone. He had his back to the door as he rested his head in one hand, using the other to slowly rub his face in exasperation and tiredness. He just had to keep going for a bit longer. But he knew that, the next time he saw her, the truth had to be said. There was no going back. The White Walkers would soon be upon them and he just hoped he was right in his assumptions. Bruda let out another sigh as he watched a tendril of golden energy dance around his hand, wishing that he had more time. After so many years, it was ironic that he still felt he deserved more decades, especially after meeting Daenerys. She’d forgive him eventually. At least he hoped she would.

   “You are the biggest conundrum I have ever known in a man.” He jumped in his seat as he heard a voice behind him. Melisandre stood in front of the door. He had obviously been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard her open it. She was dressed in her usual flowing red dress that matched her crimson hair. Yet his attention, as always with her, was on the strange red jewel placed on her neck. They had barely ever spoken to each other so he was confused as to why she was here, even if their attitude towards one another had somewhat warmed recently.

   “I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” he quipped, standing up from his sitting position. 

   “Even the Lord of Light cannot get a clear picture on you. No one ever has frustrated him as much as you have,” she continued as she stepped closer to him. The warlock shrugged nonchalantly.

   “I’m just that amazing,” he replied cockily. Something about her demeanour was strange. At least, stranger than usual.

   “Yet he can still tell you have an important role to play in the battle to come, even if he can’t truly comprehend you.” Bruda’s expression sobered at that sentence.

   “What does he say about the war?”

   “He has always whispered to me about it. It is why I am here. Why I sought out Stannis in the first place.” That confused him.

   “What does he have to do with any of this?”

   “There are a number of prophecies in action. One talks about a Prince that was Promised who would defeat the Night King in their second coming.”

   “And you think that Stannis is this foretold prince?” She didn't say anything, just looking at him. “Oh. Now that’s interesting. You used to think that he would be the one. But the thing with prophecies is that their criteria can change and someone who used to fit the bill may no longer be the right person.” He looked at her more closely and his eyes widened. “But it’s more than that. Your Lord of Light still believes he will be the one. It’s you who has the doubts now. You’re actively defying him, which is a very dangerous position to be in for a Red Woman.”

   “I have seen things here that have no place in his predictions. He misses one crucial piece of the puzzle because he is blind to other magic.” She stroked his face softly, their bodies inches apart. “And other fates.” He eyed her carefully, smirking at the hidden message. Had she figured it out too?

   “What do you know?”

   “Everything. And yet, when it comes to you, nothing.” She closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his. Her hands went to the sides of his head as his instinctively went to her hips. It had taken him completely by surprise but that didn't mean it wasn’t enjoyable. It had been a long time since he had done this so hoped that he wasn’t rusty. Their kiss deepened as her hands began to roam. They stayed like that for a few moments, enjoying each other’s taste and warmth. What she didn't expect were his hands reaching up to her neck, undoing the necklace there. She gasped as he pulled it off, stepping back. The beautiful woman from before was gone, replaced by a crippled, old hag. He eyed her warily, wishing he had been wrong about his prediction. Bruda felt sorry for her.

   “Oh Melisandre,” he sighed. “You are messing with things so much more powerful and complicated than you could ever envisage.” He looked at the choker in his hand, waving another over it, golden energy reaching out to the ruby in its centre. “The problem is, if your belief is dwindling, the Lord of Light is likely to not look down on you favourably. Which means that the energy that powers this, which I presume is the one thing keeping you alive, and I must say incredibly sexy, will soon go.” Even in the short time he had had it, he could tell the brightness of its light was fading and she was becoming weaker.

   “I accepted my fate a long time ago, warlock. As did you. If I die because I finally realised the truth, then I can be comforted by that.” He dropped the necklace to the floor suddenly, sending his foot crashing on it again. She gasped again, this time in pain, and began tumbling to the floor, only for him to catch her in his arms. He bent down, cradling her body close to the floor.

   “The thing is, we can decide our fate at times. You’re a new person now, free of this belief, at least partially. That doesn’t mean you should perish.” He gently placed his hand on her neck, golden energy seeping out from his fingers. It warmed her as it travelled down her skin. She was able to stand again before the energy took over her whole body, glowing brightly. It enveloped her, and a blinding impulse of light shot through the room. When he looked again, her previous body had returned. Her hand instinctively went to her neck, where she felt a new necklace there, the only difference being that the jewel this time was golden in colour. She looked at him in shock. 

   “Good. Back to being sexy,” he said, appraising her.

   “How? How did you do this?”

   “Like I said, I’m amazing. You’ve had that thing on for so long that it became a part of you. That’s what magic does. Seemingly inanimate objects bind themselves to the person, intertwining themselves with the very fabric and essence of said person. You saw my magic reaching out to the jewel. It was basically...reading it. Finding its magical signature. It was fairly easy to replicate it in the end.”

   “But why?” she asked, as she looked down at her now permanently younger body, tears in her eyes.

   “Because I didn't think it was fair that you were condemned to death just because you saw the...light.” He hated himself for the pun but it made her smile slightly, which he enjoyed seeing. “And I needed you to see that fate doesn’t always have the final say. It’s up to the person to decide whether they will be directed by it. You, in the end, chose not to be.”

   “What about you? Are you going to be directed?”

   “I have to be. Because it’s the right thing to do. And my fate has been sealed for a longer time than yours.” She nodded, although she now looked at him with real sadness. He lifted her chin gently so that they were eye to eye. “Enough of that now,” he said as he wiped away a tear. “Just because I must be directed, it doesn’t mean you have to be.”

   “I never expected us to get along like this. There was always a mutual distrust between us.”

   “I think that was because you were beginning to question your beliefs after you met me.” He winked at her, causing another smile. “And you must realise how unnerving it was to know how you got your powers.”

   “My powers!” she exclaimed. “Will they have gone now?”

   “I don’t know for sure. We’ll have to see at the last minute. But you’ll have to believe in your own capabilities for once.” She nodded her head, understanding his instruction. “And lucky for you, I guess you could say you now have a small part of me.” He touched the necklace softly. The thought made her strangely warm inside.

   “If only we had been this amiable to one another sooner…” He arched one of his eyebrows.

   “Well, we still have plenty of time. Why don’t we pick up where we left off?” It was her turn to raise her eyebrows but she immediately began to unfasten her robes slowly, enjoying how he watched her intently, whilst Bruda sent a charge to the door, locking it securely.

**********

   Jon sat solemnly in a small room while he stared at Bran in his wheelchair. With the tension of knowing that the White Walkers were fast approaching a tangible element in the air, there wasn’t much room for conversation. It seemed that this new version of Bran wasn’t one for talking for talking’s sake. He would only ever speak when it concerned the war, especially after Meera had fled on his orders. That one track mind unnerved Jon and made it difficult for him to see his brother in this strange person. In his chair, he sat nervously shaking one leg, unused energy filling his body in nervous anticipation. The Three-Eyed Raven picked up on this quickly.

   “You can’t do anything at the moment Jon,” he reasoned. Jon looked at him, surprised that he had said anything at all.

   “That’s the worst thing about this. Waiting. With any other potential enemy, you can make plans, go on a scouting mission even. Occupy your time usefully. But with these...I just feel helpless. I should be doing something.”

   “You are doing something.”

   “Watching you.”

   “Yes.” Jon forgot how literal he could be now. Just another change in his character.

   “I should be doing something more. Sorting out the soldiers.”

   “That’ll only begin when we know the Night King is close. For now, we must wait for his arrival.”

   “How will we know when he’s close though.” Jon was becoming even more impatient and subsequently frustrated.

   “I’ll know.” That was the only answer he had got when he brought up his worries. They’d been going through this cycle of conversation for a considerable time now. He was distracted from his angry thoughts when there came a short knock on the door. Jon sent a questioning look at Bran, who responded with usual passive one, before he stood up and went to the door. Opening it, he came face to face with a person he had been trying his hardest to not see or interact with. 

   “What are you doing here, Theon?” he asked the visitor. Theon Greyjoy audibly gulped in nervousness, not having known that Jon would be here. It would make this a lot more difficult.

   “Um…” he hesitated. “I volunteered to guard Bran during the battle. They said that he’d need protecting because he’s their key target. And he mentioned that you wouldn’t be able to do it since you’re no doubt wanting to be at the centre of the front line.” He smiled softly as he thought back to their time as children where they’d practice sword fighting. Jon did not return the smile.

   “Who said this?”

   “The old guy. Has a metal...stick.”  _ Bruda.  _ Why was he getting involved again? He greatly appreciated having him around but he also sometimes wished that he’d stay out of his personal business.

   “Well he’s right. We need someone with good fighting skills to stay here with Bran. He’s staying in this room as its deep in the castle, meaning that it’s more difficult to get to him. But why should I trust you with such an important role after you’ve betrayed his and my brother, as well as the Stark family as a whole? Rickon is dead because of you! For all I know, you’re just using this as an opportunity to stay away from the main fighting. Coward.” Theon gritted his teeth and controlled his facial expression, knowing that, if he were to let the anger inside him boil away, he wouldn’t have a chance of redeeming himself to some extent.

   “You said that Bran is their main target. So this will be the most dangerous place in Winterfell when the battle commences, meaning whoever chooses to protect Bran is the opposite of a coward.” Jon hated how he was technically correct. He refused to talk for the time being - it was Theon’s turn to do the explaining, which the other man picked up on. He sighed as he looked down at the floor. “I can’t expect you to ever trust me again, I understand that. I can’t make you see how deeply it hurts me when I look back on what I did. I was weak, manipulated by my father.” Jon was about to argue again but Theon beat him to it. “And I know that that is no excuse but it’s the only one I have. I will protect your brother with all the strength I have.” Jon didn't want to give in but he knew that, in a time of war, it didn't make sense to hold grudges when you would benefit from being the bigger man. He placed his hand on Theon’s shoulder as he began to turn his head towards Bran.

   “What do you think, Bran? It affects you the most after all.” But, as he finished his sentence, he noticed that Bran’s eyes were glazed over, a creepy creamy white colour instead of the usual brown. He instantly ran over to his side, panic consuming him. He looked back at the Theon, who stood there with a helpless expression on his face, trying to find the words that would help in this situation. “Bran?” he shouted, worry clearly evident in his voice. “Bran!” His eyes returned back to their normal state and calmly turned his head to look at the panic-stricken young men.

   “He’s almost here.” The words were like a punch to the face to Jon. The colour faded from his face. “Less than a day.” He began to run.

**********

   Jon knocked loudly on the door to Daenerys’ room, a sheen of sweat shining on his forehead as the news swirled around in his head, drowning out any other thoughts. He continued to knock heavily and repeatedly until she answered. Her initial expression showed the anger she felt at being disturbed at a late time, and in such a rude manner, but it quickly changed when she saw the look on his face. She instantly moved out of his way to let him into the room. He barely noticed that Jorah was sat in there too, focusing more on how he would break the news. The two other people shared a glance at each other, worried at what could distress the young man so much, but allowed the silence to hang over the room.

   “Less than a day,” he finally let out, looking at the floor instead of them. It was as if he was letting out a long held sigh but he didn't feel any gratification as he revealed what he had learned. Daenerys clutched the chair closest to her tightly, her knuckles turning white from the hard grip. “I presume that means they’ll be here by tomorrow night. They wouldn’t want to attack during the day as they’ll lose an advantage.” Daenerys was trying to process his words. She hadn’t expected them to arrive so early but at least they had a day. It was a time where you had to cherish the small graces. They had done as much as they could - she just hoped that they were as ready as they could be. She looked at Jorah.

   “Send word to Stannis. He should know as soon as possible. But then focus on rallying the soldiers. Let them know what’s happening. They should be allowed to enjoy their final night. To an extent.” Jorah gave a grave nod before leaving promptly, closing the door behind him with a loud thud. She turned her attention to Jon.

   “We’re grateful that at least we have some form of warning,” she said. She didn't think that she’d ever been alone with Jon, which explained the somewhat awkward atmosphere. 

   “If I may beg your pardon, your Grace,” he replied cordially, “I’d like to go tell some of the men myself what is about to happen. It’s only fair that they hear such dreaded news from someone they know. I’d want the same treatment.” She bowed her head at his wishes.

   “A noble wish that I am completely willing to allow. But, I might ask that you return afterward with anyone you deem fit to spend an evening with me. No one should spend this night alone now.” He nodded his head and turned his back on her, leaving the room just as Jorah had done moments before. Once outside, he leaned back, his head on the door, as he collected his thoughts, thinking about the horrors that lay ahead. Daenerys was right. They needed to make the most of the time they had left.

   Outside was pandemonium as he made his way onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. It seemed that the majority of soldiers had quickly learned about the recent developments and, thinking along the same lines as Jon, had deemed it fit for them to enjoy their last night of peace. The problem was that that entailed heavy drinking, judging by the loud and rowdy interactions that were happening below. He stood and watched as large men shouted at each other and briefly fought one another before swinging in each other’s arms as they shared a deep laugh. This wasn’t what an army should be acting like just before a war. If they carried on, they’d be defeated even before the White Walkers arrived. 

   He turned his head as he heard people approach behind him. Bruda, a face full of fury and anger, stepped to his side, closely followed by Melisandre. Jon noted that the Red Woman’s hair was peculiarly more unkempt than usual and, when Bruda noticed his questioning he gaze, he made time to send him a quick wink. Jon could have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. The old guy still had it in him. For a moment, he thought of how he hadn’t been with a woman in a long time, feeling his masculinity waver slightly before he shook his head from such thoughts. He was more worried about what the warlock was about to do due to the look on his face. Bruda banged his staff on the wooden panels underfoot, sending red fireworks into the sky. That stopped the people below in their tracks as they tried to figure out where the explosion had originated from. Bruda’s voice seemed to resonate across the open space, probably from some sort of magic, Jon presumed, as the soldiers looked at him, some still swaying from their recent intoxication.

   “Look at you all!” he shouted, anger still evident in his voice. “You are the only defense this kingdom has right now against a formidable enemy. One that has haunted your dreams since you were children. The day comes where you must stand tall and face them. And yet...and yet!” he repeated to get his point across, “you act like this. Drinking away your problems as if you don’t have a care in the world.” Jon was surprised at how transfixed everyone was as he spoke. “The fact is that the people of Westeros are depending on you, even if they don’t know that yet. Maybe one day, your story will reach them and the children will sing about your endeavors. But, for now, you will remain as unknown heroes who stood up against the odds. Not because it was expected of you, or because you were forced to. But because it is the right thing to do! For you to disrespect the people of Westeros, your friends, your family, and yourselves in such a manner does not befit the men of legends you will become.” He waved his hand and the glassy eyes of the soldiers seemed to return back to normal as the effect of alcohol disappeared. “Prepare yourselves, men. Because tomorrow will be filled with hardship and suffering. Be contempt in the knowledge that your stories will live on, even if you don’t.” With that, the soldiers began to disperse, most heading back to their tents, realising that they should better ready themselves for the battle. Bruda didn't care if that meant sleep or spending some quiet time with friends and comrades, sharing stories and only a couple of drinks. He wasn’t going to lose this war just because of the stupidity of men. He lead Melisandre away, leaving Jon to gawk in awe at him, as he walked towards Daenerys’ room.

**********

   Bruda gazed at the stars in the night sky as he looked out the window in Daenerys’ room. He could tell she was looking at him, even though she was currently in conversation with Jorah, and he bit his lip to stop himself from rounding on her. There was an air of unease between the two of them because of what was still unsaid. He also ignored the worried glance coming from Melisandre, a person who Daenerys had been surprised to see follow the warlock into the room for what had become celebratory drinks. Davos stood near Jorah with a glass of golden liquid, swirling it solemnly as he looked down at it. Apart from the muted words between the Dragon Queen and her knight, it was a quiet room as they absorbed themselves in their thoughts. The peace was broken as Tormund slammed through the door, quickly followed by Jon who had an anxious look on his face as he glanced at Daenerys. He hadn’t expected his friend to be so much louder than usual, which was a mean feat in itself. Mance Rayder was the last to enter, walking at his own pace and looking at the others warily. It wasn’t a group he had been with a lot but had chosen this rather than a lonely drink in the dark. Giantsbane gasped as he noticed Daenerys there, his already lax inhibitions altogether disappearing due to the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

   “It’s the dragon queen!” he exclaimed, causing Jon to wince. 

   “I know, I know,” Snow replied, trying to calm him down a bit. “Why don’t you go sit by the fire in the corner?” He tried directing the larger man but Tormund wasn’t having any of it.

   “Don’t you understand? She rides a fucking dragon! A dragon! Breathes fire! In comparison, what have we ever done? Have you ever ridden a dragon?” He poked Jon roughly in the chest. His eyes went wide as Jon looked away. “You’ve ridden a dragon? Truly? I never thought you’d have it in you, ya great big pansy!” He got Jon by the neck and rubbed his hair with his knuckles, again looking at Daenerys. “Can I ride one?”

   “I’m sure that once this all over, we’ll be able to find the time to make that happen,” she answered with a smile. His entrance had been the thing they needed to lighten the mood. He smiled brightly, bearing his oddly coloured teeth, whilst raising his horn filled with drink.

   “To the dragon queen!” he bellowed before taking another swig. The atmosphere had improved within the room and they were able to speak freely about their time together. Daenerys recalled the story of the first time she had met Jorah and how she still kept the books he had given her as a greeting gift. On the subject of books, Davos had swallowed his pride and had told them about how Shireen had stubbornly taught him how to read. That had prompted Bruda to squeeze his cheek fondly as if he were a child - Davos’ response would have greatly upset the child he was so fond of. Despite that, the sailor raised his glass in the air.

   “A toast! To all of us,” he began. “For making it this far. For overcoming salty seas, desolate sand, and frozen tundras. Only to be stuck here.” A few laughs came at his comment. “But, to be truthful, if I am to go tomorrow, which is likely with my lack of any fighting skill, I am glad that I can share this moment with you. It’s a pleasure to know that I have finally found my place in this world, even if it came too late for me to fully appreciate it.” There was a chorus of agreement and similar sentiments as they all took a sip of their drinks, even Melisandre, who Bruda had coerced into trying some for the first time. Daenerys, now wearing a smile, glanced over at her warlock.

   “Go on then, Bruda. We’ve been sharing stories. Surely you have an interesting tale from your past that will entertain us?” He paused and dramatically stroked his beard as he thought before eventually deciding on a story.

   “I don’t think I’ve ever told you of how I earnt the right to court Isabella all those years ago. I was, of course, a young man and barely had a penny to my name. Her father was a brutish old thug and was rightly protective of his only daughter. I went to ask him but, because I had no money, he feared I wouldn’t be able to care for her. So I proposed to him that, if I could guess his grandmother’s maiden name just from his first name, I’d be able to pursue Isabella. I rattled on about how names hold our past, even if we don’t remember all the time. For some reason, he agreed, probably because people at the time were fascinated with the mystical elements of life. But, what he didn't realise was that I had already been speaking to Isabella quite frequently because I’m a scoundrel and she had told me what the name was. So, hey presto, I amaze him with my apparent magical skills and I get to freely see the love of my life. Without having to use actual magic.” There were smiles all around and a few chuckles, apart from Daenerys, whose smile had fallen at his story. Bruda had told her to think back on their conversations and his tale had brought back one to the forefront of her mind.

_    “All I’ll say for now is that names are interesting things. If we look deep enough, they can reveal the truth about a person. I hope you remember that because it will make it easier for you in the future to accept what is to come.”  _ She looked carefully at Bruda, who noted her unease.

   “What is it Daenerys? The story isn’t supposed to make you sad.”

   “Does your name mean anything?” she asked. The rest of them went quiet at the question. She expected him to frown in confusion but he just smirked sadly. 

   “Yes.”

   “What does it mean?” He stood up and she half expected him to leave the room instead of answering the question but he just slowly paced across the floor.

   “It can have different interpretations. Depending on the place you ask. Some see it as the hope of new beginnings, the promise that things will eventually get better. Yet others view it only as darkness. The encroaching cold that eventually embraces us all. Death.”

   “Bruda, what does your name mean?” she repeated, more urgency in her voice. He turned to look at Jon.

   “The message became confused. Spread from person to person, the meaning became forgotten. People just saw it as a general warning and not what it literally entailed. Your family, your father, always told you that I’d come one day. You all just forgot that the motto could mean a person. So many people foretold of my arrival without even knowing they were doing so.”

   “Bruda,” she said, tears in her eyes, just wanting him to say it. “Your name. It means…”

   “Winter.” He turned towards the door, his staff glowing blue in his hand. “And those creatures that decide to walk amongst us should be very worried and afraid that Winter has arrived.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting point - Bruda is actually a Latin word for Winter (thank you Google Translate!). This has been planned since the start of the story. Did you expect it? If you're intrigued, the song 'The Wedding of River Song' by Murray Gold helped shape that final reveal from Bruda so listen to that if you want to read it again for the full experience. Next chapter: the battle of Winterfell


	36. Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness falls as the dead rise. The Battle between Life and Death is upon us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter by a mile. I hope I did this justice.

   Silence.

   Men, only united by the prospect of the toils of war, stood side by side as they waited for it all begin. Waiting. No words were spoken as thoughts ran through their head, questioning how their lives had brought them to this terrible point. Yet no one dared to think about the future because no one expected to get out of this alive. They were embracing themselves with the presence of life in the face of encroaching death. That would be the thing to keep them going, to keep them fighting, until the very end. This wasn’t a war about politics or about the Throne. They watched as their breath became visible in front of them in the cold air, signifying the life and humanity they were fighting for. This was a battle for the right for existence. Lose and the kingdom would soon fall. Lose and the reign of man would come to an abrupt end.

   Night had fallen quickly as they stood there, the darkness adding to the foreboding nature of the evening. Any movement was likely to spook even the best of men. So they stayed still. Waiting. They stood and watched as three separate fires, one by one, sprung to life to form circular defences around the castle, the heat providing a necessary warmth for the soldiers. The quiet was shattered by the sound of a lone horse galloping back towards Winterfell, its rider pushing it to its limits to get back within the safety of the stone walls. It reached the gate and waited, silence regaining its throne. A tense moment passed as the rider waited to be let back in before the bark of an order sounded around the grounds.

   “Open the gate!” someone shouted and men hurried to do so, the horse galloping in. The rider pushed themselves off the animal, allowing it to be led away. The creator of the fires. An act of magic that had come about from her realising that she was now the master of her own powers. That had been the message behind his words. The master of her powers and her fate. Melisandre observed the men around her, noticing how none of them looked at her. They weren’t looking at anyone. Focused on themselves for the time being, relishing the privacy of their own thoughts before they were forced to fight as one entity. She walked off, allowing them to relish the quiet. The gate was closed, the brief interlude of noise coming to an end.

   Silence.

**********

   Stood together overlooking the open grounds surrounding Winterfell on the front wall of the castle were Bruda, Jorah and Davos. Just like the soldiers below in the courtyard, they found comfort in the quiet. The only noise came from the biting wind that blew through their hair and beards. They couldn’t take their eyes off the horizon, waiting to see the horde of the undead come into view. Yet still nothing came. That was the worst part. The anticipation. The fear of the unknown. Yet Jorah didn't know whether Bruda was as in the dark as the rest of them after his revelation. It had been a shock to everyone, naturally. It had hit Daenerys understandably hard, since she was so close to him, and she hadn’t said anything to the warlock afterwards. He could tell that had hurt Bruda, even if he wouldn’t show it or talk about it. When Jorah looked at him, he couldn’t see any new difference in the old man. It wasn’t as if the truth had brought out a new side to him. It was just him. Or at least he hoped.

   “So what do we call you now?” he asked, bringing an end to their share of the quiet. “Winter?” He half expected such a name to make his hair and beard turn completely white. Bruda, along with Davos, turned his head to send a questioning glance at the knight. Of all the things to be considering in that moment, that hadn’t been an expected one.

   “Don’t be stupid,” he replied briskly. “My name is Bruda, just as you have known since you first met me. You just didn't know that it could have a hidden meaning.”

   “Do you have any powers to do with Winter?”

   “The only abilities I have are the ones you’ve seen. Don’t be blaming me for the failed harvests you see across the kingdom. That’s to do with someone completely different.” He winked at them both. Jorah couldn’t tell whether he was making that part up. It was best not to think about it.

   “So you’re exactly the same person as before?” Davos inquired, almost tentatively.

   “The one and only. Nothing new. Same old Bruda. The only new thing you know is that I was meant to be here when the White Walkers arrived.”

   “So that’s why you pushed Daenerys to come,” Jorah reasoned.

   “No. That was her own choice. I proposed it as an idea because I knew she wanted to rule the kingdom and I knew this was going to happen.”

   “Why do you have to be here?” Davos asked.

   “To help,” came the simple reply. That was all they were going to get. Jorah worried that Bruda still held some secrets close to his chest. But, after all this and all he had done, he realised that it didn't matter.

   “You know that Daenerys doesn’t see you in any different light,” he said, trying to reassure the warlock.

   “If only that were true. Maybe one day she’ll realise that I did what I had to do so that everything worked. But I doubt that faith will be restored any time soon.” Jorah could tell that he was right. It wouldn’t do to voice his opinion though. Davos shivered against the cold.

   “Is it just me, or does it feel like this isn’t actually happening? After all this time and planning...” The other two chuckled slightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever admitted to being scared...but if there was ever a time to do so…” He left the rest unsaid as if to maintain his dignity but they knew what he meant. Bruda patted him on the shoulder.

   “I’ll make sure that you two survive, don’t worry.”     

They didn't exactly know what that meant but didn't ask. They just turned again to look at the land ahead of them. It wouldn’t be long now.

**********

   The men standing outside the gates had all volunteered to do so. They would act as a final barrier to the castle if the White Walkers managed to get past the flaming defences. One of the men stood there was Sandor Clegane. He hadn’t wanted to wait inside like some coward. But now he saw the flames dancing against the blackness and was somewhat regretting his decision. He stared at the fire as it made the horizon hazy and blurred. The men around him were wearing impassive masks, hiding their true emotions of fear as they had been trained. Probably by that Stannis, who was too busy now cowering behind those tall walls. A phony leader if there ever was one. He looked up at those stone walls and observed the archers lining them, armed with arrows with dragonglass tips. If they could take out enough approaching enemies from above, they might just stand a chance. He turned his eyes back to the fire and froze. The blackness they had been dancing upon was still there but now, coming into view, was a horde of thousands of bodies, a horrendous noise of screeching beginning to reach their ears. The dead had arrived. The men around him seemed to stand taller as they got closer. A loud horn rang out across the castle grounds to signal their arrival. He simply gripped his sword and axe tighter.

**********

   Bruda gulped as he saw the Wights come into view. No one spoke as they watched the numerous creatures charge towards them. He cracked his knuckles and then his neck, prompting the other two men to look at him with confused expressions. He ignored them as he lifted his staff into the air, a look of pure concentration on his face. Blue energy crackled around him, originating at his feet and slowly crawling up his body to the tip of his staff.

   “We knew that they’d choose to attack at night because it gives them an obvious advantage. But they should soon realise that they’re not going to have everything go their own way.” The energy collected at the tip of the staff, building into a large, wild ball. A beam of blue light then shot up into the sky, seemingly piercing the night itself. Everyone watched as a boom in the distance went off in one of the clouds, a flash of blue going off before the inky black sky began to disappear, quickly replaced by the light blue of a sunny day. The grounds were filled with light and the men below began to cheer, the Dothraki warriors hooting and chanting, whilst banging their Arakhs together. It filled them with a peculiar sense of optimism. The numerous horses began to bang their hooves on the ground, a cacophony of sound enveloping the surrounding area. This was the final stand. They would not go down meekly.

   Bruda wasn’t willing to be so joyous too prematurely. He focused on the creatures who were continuing on their way towards the castle with no obvious acknowledgement towards the change in the environment. It was a relentless swarm that went on forever. He tensed as he watched the first of them reach the ring of fire. They plunged into the flames as if they weren’t there but their screams signalled that the defence was working. He could make out their twisted bodies writhing in some form of agony (if they could feel such an emotion) as they slowly succumbed to their wretched fate. The men around him began to cheer again, louder this time, as they saw the early signs of success. Even Davos slapped the stone wall in triumph. But the warlock was more focused on a strangely serene figure making its way to the fire. It walked calmly towards the burning flames, ignoring the screeches around it. One of the White Walkers. More humanoid than the Wights and much more imposing. It seemed to observe the events unfolding before it continued walking. Bruda, begging to any gods that were listening as he muttered under his breath, waited for it to be consumed by the fires but, as soon as it stepped into the blaze, the flames extinguished, the line of orange suddenly dying, replaced by blue and black smoke. The trenches were still full of dragonglass judging by the number of Wights falling into the pit and not moving afterwards but Bruda was still speechless.

   “I’ve made a massive mistake,” he quietly uttered. The two others looked at him worriedly, not knowing what that mistake was, and stood and watched as he barked an order at the archers, telling them to prepare themselves for the first wave. He then set off into a run, Jorah and Davos following closely behind, quickly making his way down the steps to get into the cramped courtyard. He observed the nervous energy passing between each soldier and made eye contact with Stannis. The Baratheon, putting aside his grudges, nodded his head before facing forward towards the gate. 

   “Men! At arms!” he bellowed. The soldiers followed his order promptly, swords and other weapons being raised as the men let out a final roar in the face of adversity. Bruda shared a look with his closest comrades, grim expressions on both their faces. They were up against it now.

***********

   Sandor saw the men around him raise their weapons as one as they watched the Wights breach the first barrier. They channelled themselves through the first opening, using the corpses of other monsters to climb over the dragonglass shards. It had done its job in reducing their numbers but there were still thousands of them. The same happened at the next line of fire and then they made their way to the third. Clegane swore that he saw the White Walker look him in the eye as he stepped into the flames. The fire tried to put up a fight but it was a battle that it was losing. He heard the soldiers chant louder. The Unsullied men banged their spears on the ground, whilst shouting words he didn't understand. The Dothraki shouted unintelligible noises whilst hitting their crude armour with their weapons. Any Westerosi men simply shouted “For the kingdom!” over and over again as they watched the Wights swarm. They breached the fire and charged towards them. The Hound lifted his two weapons in preparation, knowing that it would ultimately be futile. He vaguely heard a distant roar as the creatures got closer. He braced for their impact as they were right in front of them.

   The roar, closer this time, came again and the Wights were engulfed in flames right in front of his eyes, causing him to take stumbling step back in fear. They fell to the ground instantly defeated. He looked up to the sky and saw a black dragon soar over their heads, quickly followed by another two, who repeated the action. He shook off the momentary weakness and then charged at the mass of bodies, ready for whatever the outcome would be.

**********

   Daenerys gripped tightly onto Drogon’s back as he swooped over the dreadful sight. He breathed another blast of fire, taking out numerous creatures that were in its path. She turned her head and watched as Viserion and Rhaegal did the same. Drogon continued flying away from Winterfell, taking out masses of Wights at a time, before circling back again. This had been the main focus of their tactics in preparation. It wouldn’t do to let the soldiers take the brunt of the attack when they had dragons on their side. She gasped in awe as, out of nowhere, wild green flames engulfed a large collection of Wights. Hidebyo, now larger than Drogon, flew over the castle walls in order to join the fight. They had been unsure whether he would cooperate, with neither Sam or Marwyn being here to instruct him, but the disturbance had obviously awoken him from his nest in the caverns around Winterfell. It was a major boost in their efforts. She was transfixed by the colour of the fire. Bruda had theorised that it would be different to that of her dragons because of the wildfire it had been born in, and that was obviously the case. Her thoughts turned to the warlock, as they often did. She regretted not speaking to him after he had unveiled the truth but it had been too big of a shock to her system. Yet she still cared for him deeply, regardless of what his name meant. She’d just done a bad job of conveying that sentiment.

**********

   In between the trees that surrounded Winterfell at his sides, two portions of the army stood waiting to attack. It had been Stannis’ idea to use a tactic he had devised which had helped him take the castle from the Bolton stronghold. The Wights had not noticed their presence and so they would be able to catch them unawares by charging at them from the sides. They were just waiting for the call. An air of anticipation had collected amongst the leaves. They stood and watched as flames tore through the undead army but still they continued to surge towards the castle walls. There was a growing number of normal bodies littering the floor, which was a concerning sight. But they had to wait. Leave too early and they would risk ruining their chances. 

   Within one of these groups, Jaime Lannister looked on in horror. He never would have thought leaving King’s Landing would have brought him to this point. He questioned whether he had made the right choices along this path. He would likely die in this battle. Yet it comforted him that, after all he had done wrong in his life, his death would actually have been for something good and righteous. He glanced at Bronn, who he was surprised to see was still with them. He had half expected him to flee when the war actually started. He wasn’t getting paid for this, as far as he was aware, so it went against all of the sellsword’s nature to be involved in this fight. Maybe they had both changed, now resembling somewhat good people. He then looked at Brienne, who was focused on the melee occurring in front of them. He couldn’t put his finger on the emotions he felt when he looked at her. Definitely affection but nothing like he had ever felt before. She turned her head and noticed his staring. They shared one final look. There was so much left unsaid between them. A conversation would be needed after this, if they both got through it. They quickly turned their heads as they heard the unmistakable noise of arrows flying through the air. The Wights had got so close to the wall that the archers were now being deployed. And that was their signal. They began to charge as one.

***********

   They could hear the unearthly sounds of the Wights from outside the castle walls as they all stood in the courtyard. Bruda had wished that they wouldn’t be able to get this close to the castle but it had been a faint, hopeful dream. He looked up and saw a few Wights scraping at the top of the wall where the archers were. He noticed one unlucky soul get dragged down from his position, presumably fatally falling into the hordes of the undead. It wouldn’t do for them to stay inside the walls. The tight room, with so many of them packed inside, would surely work in favour of the Wights. He glanced at Stannis once again, who seemed to know what his next plan was. He caught the eye of Jon, who was in the middle of the soldiers. A grave nod was shared between the two. Selmy saluted him from his position on a mighty black horse. He turned to Jorah and Davos. They’d have a bit of preparation time because they were stood on one of the high wooden platforms. It wouldn’t be a lot though. 

   “Good luck, men,” he said to them both. Jorah, setting a resolute expression on his face, gripped his new sword tightly and nodded. Davos let out a simple aye, whilst straightening his armour. Bruda, opening his arms outwards, bellowed an order. “Open the gate!” A moment’s hesitation. The noise of men standing taller, preparing themselves. Horses whinnying. Then his order was followed. And all hell broke loose.

**********

   Jaime sliced the head off a rampaging wight, enjoying the sight of it rolling to the ground. The dragonglass blades seemed to be working as any contact was killing them off. The only advantage they had was numbers, the sheer size of their collective beginning to overwhelm them. One jumped at him, pushing him to the ground. It snarled millimetres away from his face as he struggled against its weight, trying to get a better grasp of his sword. Suddenly, another blade went through the arm of the wight, killing it instantly. He shoved the corpse off of him and looked up to see Bronn, blood already smeared on his face. He could make out a small gash on his arm, which caused him to wince as helped Jaime up to his feet. The Lannister nodded his thanks but they had little time to spend on pleasantries as a trio of the creatures came towards them, only for a Dothraki warrior on horseback to come barreling past them, removing the heads from all three of them with his curved blade. The shouts and hoots coming from him suggested that he was actually enjoying this. They shared a quick bemused look before rejoining the fight.

**********

   Jorah and Davos fought side by side, parrying any attack that came at them. The undead soldiers had quickly filled the courtyard, causing mayhem. They found that it was easier to repel their attacks by sticking together since it gave them a greater field of view, which was essential as the wights were seemingly coming from every direction. Jorah sent his sword through the chest of one of them, whilst Davos clumsily hacked off the arm of another. It was clear to see that he wasn’t accustomed to this sort of fighting but he was managing to hold his own. But it was soon apparent that they were in trouble with a number of wights targeting them due to them having killed quite a few of their number. Yet, when it looked bleak, a beam of blue shot through the horde, turning them to ash in an instant. They gathered their breath as they saw Bruda, who looked surprisingly composed amongst the utter chaos, walk up to them. He swung his staff, hitting the head of another wight. He became a part of their defence tactic as they kept their backs to one another. They parried as one, fending off attacks quite well. They grew worried though as they saw Selmy, having taken out at least ten of the monsters in quick succession, fall off his horse under sustained pressure on both sides. Acting fast, Bruda slammed his staff onto the ground. It seemed to rumble as a blue force rose from the stones like a wave before surging towards the group around the former kingsguard. It destroyed the assailants immediately, and many in the near vicinity, but they could only see his body on the ground, unmoving. Bruda cursed under his breath, not just because of the effect the magic had had on his tiring body. The other two looked at him, checking that he was okay and non verbally asking whether they should see if Ser Barristan was still alive. But they knew the answer to both questions - they had to just keep going on.

**********

   Jon, hardly noticing himself kill another wight, adding to the considerable number he had already felled, stared at the White Walker who had made its way into the courtyard. It appeared to be intent on its own mission, ignoring the battle around it. A man, Jon didn't know whether he was brave or foolish, charged at the humanoid figure, yelling loudly and brandishing his longsword. He had a poor stance and one swing of the Walker’s spear knocked him to the ground. It wasn’t finished there though as it lifted the poor man by the throat up into the air, his feet dangling a few feet from the ground. He struggled against the tight grip but it was a fruitless endeavour. The White Walker simply plunged its spear through the stomach of the now dead man, its end protruding out of his back.

   Jon had seen enough. He had defeated one of these before and so knew it was up to him to help. He cried out as he ran towards the figure, swiping aside a wight as he did so. The Walker acknowledged the challenge and swung its spear again. Jon parried well with his sword. It took the White Walker by surprise that the sword wasn’t shattered into tiny pieces. He was thankful of the Valyrian steel in that moment, having known it would stay strong under the attack. He pushed back using all the strength he could muster, momentarily forcing his opponent backwards. Trying to take advantage of his temporary upper hand, he made a slashing motion with his sword that was only just dodged by the White Walker. But he had put in too much effort, causing him to stumble off balance and he was made to pay. The Walker hit him with the handle of its spear with so much force that it sent Jon flying, hitting the wall with a thud. He lay on the ground unconscious, planks of wood tumbling to the ground after his impact, which worked to cover his body. The White Walker considered walking to him to finish the job but knew that it had a more pressing task to complete.

**********

   The battle was spilling onto the grounds outside the castle walls, which was a positive outcome for the soldiers. The wights had used the cramped spaces to good effect, signalled by the number of fresh corpses that covered the cobbled ground. With more open space around them, they were able to see the horrors of war more clearly. Bruda tried to ignore the sight of one man’s head being a considerable distance away from what he presumed was his body. He managed to dodge a wight that had flung itself into the air towards him before smirking as he saw a trio head towards him. Holding his staff horizontally, he parried each attack, successfully keeping them at a safe distance. He noticed a sword on the ground quite close to him so he pushed them away temporarily, using the added time to pick up the spare weapon. It was slick in his hand from the blood that coated the handle but it was still effective. He let one get close to him before swinging his staff again at its torso, forcing it into the other two. He flicked his hand, causing a blue ethereal rope to bind them together, before he shoved the blade through their heads, ending their existence. 

   He looked up at the sky as the dragons came around again. They took out a sizeable portion of the undead but even their aerial attacks weren’t doing a sufficient job. He caught a streak of blonde in his vision, worrying about Daenerys’ safety and knew that he needed to act soon. Yet he was immediately distracted by loud thuds coming from behind him. Getting rid of another wight, he turned around and looked up.

   “Oh fuck off.” An undead giant, presumably attracted by blue light coming off Bruda, was marching towards him clumsily. He saw two men get crushed underfoot but didn't have time to care. With the large beast getting closer, he held out his staff and, gritting his teeth, let loose with a beam of magical energy once more. It stopped the giant in its tracks but the sheer size of it was allowing it to push back against the force. It was taking a lot of effort to stop it but it had to be done. Even the dragonglass swords would have little effect on this thing. He was aware that wights would be able to get to him easily now but, out of nowhere, Jorah came to his side, protecting him from any other attacks. Fed up with the nuisance, he let out a disgruntled shout before making a shoving motion with his hands. A snap from somewhere in the giant could be heard before it was flung into the air. It arched almost gracefully as it soared before landing heavily on a large group of wights. Bruda just raised his eyebrows at Jorah’s impressed look before looking back at the dragons. They were getting dangerously close to the ground, prompting some wights to try and jump towards them. His eyeline caused him to look further ahead and saw a group of figures on horseback, watching the battle. He scowled at the figure. 

   “Jorah, with me,” he ordered and they set off away from the castle. He needed to accept his fate.

**********

   The light blinded Jon as the panels of wood were removed from on top of him. He shielded his eyes from the view so couldn’t tell who was helping him. A strong arm helped him to his feet and held his shoulders as he regained his balance after his heavy fall. His senses coming back, he realised that Mance Rayder had been the one to spot his body. He was thankful that a person had found him before the undead creatures but he still needed a moment before he started fighting again. 

   “Are you okay boy?” Mance asked, concern evident in his voice. He had blood and mud all over his face, making him look even more haggard than usual. Jon nodded his head whilst breathing heavily. “Good. Now get back out there. We can’t afford to lose anyone against these fuckers. We have to keep…” Mance stopped talking and coughed abruptly. A spurt of blood came flying and they looked down together. Something metal was sticking out from his stomach. They shared one last look before the Wildling king tumbled to the floor, dead. Jon screamed out in rage and, picking up Mance’s sword, he swung wildly at the wight that had killed him. Tears filling his eyes, he continued on his killing spree, taking out target after target before there were no more close around him. Tormund had seen what had happened and had been consumed by a fit of rage. He tore through the wights easily as raced through the courtyard in a rampage. The wildling was followed by Ghost, who Jon hadn’t seen in the battle up to that point. The direwolf ripped the arm off of one wight before continuing to savage another. Jon looked back at the lifeless body and knelt down by it. He was filled with an awful sadness as he looked at the older man. It was a grief that was becoming all too familiar with him but, for once, Jon understood that Rayder would have been content in his death, fulfilling his duty of protecting his people against the Others. He felt that it was his fault but also knew that Mance would have told him to get over himself. He’d want him to carry on. Not knowing where his own sword was, he kept Mance’s in his hand. Jon looked around wildly, trying to see if the White Walker was still there. No sign of it. That was troubling.

**********

   Theon watched the door intently, holding his sword as he had done since he heard the horn ring out. The castle was practically shaking due to the intense fighting going on outside. It was causing small granules of rock to occasionally stream down from the ceiling. He’d get twitchy if any of it landed on him. Yet Bran was as serene as ever, as if this was the most natural thing ever to be happening. That made it worse for the young Greyjoy - it seemed as though he shouldn’t be so paranoid when, in reality, it was the most obvious time to be worried. He had such an important job and he didn't want to let the Starks down yet again. This was his chance for redemption. All he had been through, all the suffering he had caused and subsequently become a victim to, had led him to this point. He wasn’t planning on failing.

   He became more alert as loud noises became apparent from the corridor right outside. The unmistakable shouts of men, the clanging and crashing of metal upon metal, the harrowing screams of pain and anguish, even the noise of a body flying against the wall. Theon looked at Bran, who appeared as if he knew what was about to happen. What was he not sharing with him? What had he condemned himself to? He was interrupted from his thoughts when the perpetrator of all the noise turned their attention to their location. They were intent on getting in. How did they know Bran was here? Did they know Bran was here? Was he ready for what was about to happen? The door began to shake under the heavy bangs from whoever was outside. 

**********

   Daenerys clung on tightly to Drogon as he glided through the air with a mighty roar. That’s when she him. He was unmistakable. Sat on his strange horse, surrounded by other White Walkers. He watched her as if he was amused, interested in what she was about to do. Bruda had said that fire was their weakness and she was sitting on top of one great, big monster born of fire. She directed Drogon towards him and, for a moment, they simply hovered above their targets. The Night King watched impassively. That infuriated her. The cause of so much pain already. She could end him right here, put an end to this war. She let out a sort of war cry, screaming at him as Drogon let out a stream of blazing fire. It engulfed all of them and she watched gleefully as the fire surrounded them. It continued for a few moments before the dragon eventually stopped. She continued to stare, hoping to see his ashes drift off into the artificially bright sky. But her anger turned to anguish as she saw him still standing there, his impassive expression now replaced by a condescending smirk. Her eyes widened as he jumped off his horse and collected one of those spears Bruda told her about. She quickly ordered Drogon to get out of there and his wings began to beat, causing them to go higher. They got a fair distance away but still within his sights. He arched his arm back and flung the spear towards them at a frightening speed. Drogon saw it coming and managed to roll in the air, causing the weapon to narrowly miss his stomach. It still caught him in the side, causing him to roar out in pain. She didn't notice that though as his maneuver had given her no chance of hanging on. Despite her efforts, her hands gave in to gravity and she slipped from the safety of her dragon. She felt the air rush beneath her as the ground got closer. 

   Falling. 

   Falling.

   Floating.

   A soft blue light surrounded her and she slowed down dramatically. The force brought her to the snowy ground gently and she let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. She looked around and saw Bruda, along with Jorah, running towards her briskly. She had landed some distance away from the Night so that wasn’t a worry. And they were so far away from the castle that the only wights near to them were already vanquished. The warlock bent down and checked her all over, Jorah squeezing her hand in a reassuring manner.

   “It’s him,” it took her a lot of effort to speak due to the shock. Bruda gave her a grave look before he stood back up, looking over in the general direction of where he presumed he was. Jorah helped her to her feet, putting his arm around her protectively. 

   “Get back to the castle,” he said, a sad note in his voice. They looked at him with equally perplexed faces. 

   “What do you mean?” she asked startled. She stepped closer to him, now more stable on her feet. She looked at him closely and grew concerned when he wouldn’t meet her eye. She took a hold of his face with one hand, forcing him to look at her. “What are you planning on doing?”

   “To have a word with him.” If only it were that simple. She stared at him for a moment longer, so many words running through her mind but none suiting the situation. Tears stung her eyes as she nodded. Realising that she had relented far quicker than he had expected, he sent out a spark into the sky and a loud whistle. Viserion was soon upon them, the flapping of his wings causing a breeze to blow their hair in different directions. 

   “Come back to me,” she whispered.

   “I always do,” he replied with a solemn smile. Jorah took her arm in his hand and led her towards the dragon. The knight stared at the warlock, not knowing what to say. “Protect her,” Bruda said eventually.

   “I always do,” came the response. They then hurried to get on Viserion. His arrival had attracted a group of wights to come towards them so they needed to get on quickly. Bruda couldn’t tell if any of the creatures had managed to get on as they began to fly away. He was more focused on destiny as he began the long walk.

**********

   Jaime didn't know how he was still alive. The horde of the undead just kept coming like an endless sea of grey. He batted away one savage whilst surveying his surroundings. He saw Bronn boot a wight away from him with his foot from his position on top of a wooden cart. The wights were attacking him from every angle but he was currently holding his own. The Greyjoy girl wasn’t so lucky - Jaime watched horrified as a swarm of the creatures finally overpowered her and she was taken up by the wave of death. The large ginger wildling, closely followed by a gigantic white wolf, continued to charge through the courtyard, killing anything in his way. It was a sight to behold. Stannis Baratheon was still going but only just. He had received a knock early on that was hampering his fighting ability but he’d backed himself into a corner, allowing him to concentrate his defence in one direction for the time being.

   Jaime’s eyes then landed on Brienne, who was loudly grunting with each blow she struck. She was struggling massively, that was clear. He decided to help her and jumped over a wooden crate as he ran towards her. Yet his presence had the opposite effect. His arrival distracted her for a moment too long and one of the wights took advantage. It sliced her across the stomach, where her armour didn't cover, and she fell to the ground. He shouted out in fear as he saw what had happened, trying to get to her in time. He batted away a wight, attempting to shove his way through. He saw her dying eyes, the life fading from her quickly. He could only see her. Didn't care about anything else. The only other woman he had cared for. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. He gave in to the sea of grey, his body washed up in an instant as if he was nothing more than a pebble.

**********

   Jorah was glad to see another wight tumble off the side of Viserion. Quite a few had managed to get onto the dragon and, with Daenerys intent on flying the beast, he was tasked with protecting her. As he had promised Bruda. Only he knew what he was about to do. All Jorah hoped was that he did it quickly. He sent his sword crashing through the torso of a rotten figure, kicking it away once he’d done so. One wight got close enough to him without him noticing to create a gash down his arm. Jorah cried out in pain, alerting Daenerys briefly before she made herself focus on her task. He managed to throw it off into the air, giving him a short moment of respite. They just had to keep going until Bruda was done.

**********

   The Night King was just up ahead. He battled through the wind as he kept on walking, clutching his staff tightly. He eventually stood directly in front of the leader of the undead, who had been standing there as he approached, intrigued by his arrival. Bruda could tell that the White Walkers were a bit perturbed by his arrival. He definitely wasn’t a part of their plan. He looked at his opponent. He was truly an ugly creation. So humanoid yet so devoid of life. He wondered how scared a group of people had to be to make him as their saviour. The Children of the Forest had initially seen him as their only hope. How bleak their prospects must have been. He was surprised that the Night King didn't move or step closer to him. He was prepared for him to kill him straight away. Be done with this nuisance. That’s what he would have done after all. Curiosity was always the downfall of power-hungry tyrants, even those of the undead variety.

   “I don’t know whether you remember me,” he began as if he was striking up a normal conversation. It was absurd. Was he finally giving in to his madness? The Night King didn't respond. Could he even talk? This was Bruda’s ideal type of conversation - where the other person just left you to it. “We met at the Wall? You killed a friend of mine and I think I slightly inconvenienced you. Ring a bell?” Still nothing. It was almost boring. “I’ve come to ask you, politely, to end this madness. You can go live out your existence safely beyond the Wall and we can go about our business, doing things that humans do, such as fighting our own wars, making mistakes and falling in love. How about it? Neither of us truly want this death to continue.” What he didn't expect was the Night King to start laughing, a deep, hollow sound that grated on his ears. There was no actual joy to it. It just resembled a laugh. The White Walkers followed his example. All staring at him. Laughing. He stroked his beard in annoyance. “Fine then. Different tactic. Before you inevitably kill me, because that seems your only skill, do an old man a favour and answer some of my questions. I’ll be long gone before I can tell anyone so you’ve got nothing to lose.” They didn't say no. “Okay...first one. What’s with the obsession with the boy?”

**********

   The door finally gave way. Theon stepped back from the destruction and looked on in fear as a White Walker stepped into the room. It stared not at him, but at Bran. Theon glanced at the young boy, who showed no emotion whatsoever. What was going on? The White Walker turned its attention to him after a beat and eyed his sword. The Greyjoy boy audibly gulped but tightened his grip on his weapon regardless. He charged straight at the Walker. He thought that it wasn’t going to react until it swung its spear down on the sword, shattering it instantly. Theon looked down at the shards in his hand and then the White Walker. He was defenceless. There was nothing he could do as the spear was driven into him, blood spurting out of his mouth as his redemption died with him.

**********

   They still didn't respond to his question. It was like they were allowing him to figure it out on his own. “Okay. Let’s think. Bran said that you were created by the Children of the Forest. He’s not one of those, so there’s no connection there. I’m sure you know he’s the Three Eyed Raven…” Bruda stopped and looked at the figure in front of him. “It wasn’t the Children. It was the Raven. So you’re coming back to meet your maker. For what? You want to be stronger and the only person in existence who can grant you that wish is Bran Stark. And, oh boy, he lied to us. He knew all along why you were coming. He was positively excited to meet you. I’ll be having words with him.” They were growing a bit restless, unnerved by his words. The Night King took a step forward. “Ah! We’re not going to be doing that. Come on. We’re having a conversation, aren’t we? I feel sorry for you, I really do. You’ve come all this way and yet you’re still not going to get to see him.” He banged his staff on the ground. A dull noise rang out as wisps of blue energy surrounded the Walkers. They froze in place, unable to move against the magical force. The Night King found that he couldn’t move either, although he was more willing to fight this unknown power. “You really should have killed me when you had the chance. Honestly. Never let your opponent do a monologue. It’s the first rule of being evil.”

   “Now then. I’ve got a bone to pick with you. We found a symbol that signified that you could be defeated by fire. So you can understand my shock when I find that isn’t the case when it comes to you and your cronies.” He clicked his fingers and pointed at the frozen man. “But I’ve realised why. Because I’m very intelligent and I often have a lot of time to think. And I work very well under pressure. I’d say that you’re almost as clever as me. That’s clear because you used that very symbol to confuse us. You knew that your wights would be killed by it and used that to your advantage. Your soldiers weren’t subconsciously creating those patterns. That would be incredibly stupid and impractical. You wanted us to think that fire was your weakness so that we wouldn’t be able to defeat you.” He clapped his hands sarcastically. “And it worked. Quite brilliantly, in fact. Even I fell for it until very recently.” His expression turned serious. “But you should have done your research on me. Because I know that you were created by dragonglass, even if Bran spoke lies about everything else. You were created by fire so can’t be destroyed by it. We share that in common.” He gestured to his staff. “Valyrian steel. Very similar to dragonglass. Forged by fire. You know how I knew you were created by dragonglass?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Your eyes. They’re blue. Just as the steel turned my magic blue, the dragonglass turned your eyes the same colour. Isn’t that just a remarkable coincidence. You know what else is remarkable. The fact that, because of this connection, I can do this.” He aimed his staff at the Night King, a swirl of blue energy surrounding them both. A high wind picked up as he gripped the metal tightly. His arms shook under the pressure, magical energy pouring out of his body as he aimed it at his enemy. The Night King roared in anger and struggled against the force. For a moment it looked like Bruda would succeed but then the creature took a small step forward. He was able to fight it. The warlock had feared this. The blue energy continued to swirl around them but he knew it wasn’t going to work. He was confined to his fate as he had known deep inside. As the Night King took another step closer, reaching out his hand towards Bruda, he threw his staff to the ground. It landed with a thud and the connection was broken. 

   “Fine!” he shouted. “You have it! You have it all!” He raised his hands towards the Night King. This time golden energy poured from his fingertips. It forced the monster back as it engulfed him in blinding light. A tornado of pure magical energy surrounded him. Bruda couldn’t hold on for much longer. Another angry roar was let out but even the Night King couldn’t fight this. The winds grew wilder, the energy became stronger, and Bruda saw the first flake come off the Night King. He tried to fight the magic but it was too strong. The ultimate sacrifice. It built up further, becoming a blinding gold colour before one final roar was let out and the tornado broke, a massive impulse firing out in all directions. It shattered the Walkers were they were. And sent Bruda flying into the air. But the Night King was gone.

**********

   The White Walker reached out towards Bran and, just as it was about to make contact, it shattered into thousands of tiny shards of ice. Across the courtyard and the surrounding area, the wights dropped to the floor. Soldiers all around look at one another, confused as to what had happened but euphoric nonetheless. Some hugged each other, others cried, whilst some just shouted into the sky. It was over. Somehow they had won. All they knew was that it had something to do with the strange golden energy that had passed through the castle.

   In the sky, Daenerys and Jorah had clearly seen the golden explosion. Daenerys had stopped breathing as she saw it happen. They both knew it was Bruda but weren’t willing to think what it entailed. She ordered Viserion to turn around as they flew back to where the explosion had originated. Both didn't want to know what they’d find.

**********

   Bruda got up from his position in the snow, grunting painfully as he used his arms to stand up. He stretched his arms out and looked at his hands. He focused intently but his hands remained the same, no golden energy appearing. He smiled sadly. He knew that would be the case. He saw Winterfell in the distance and began to walk, hoping to get there in time. He walked clumsily, stumbling in a zigzag fashion. He made it a few more steps, gritting his teeth due to the sheer effort it was taking. He’d have loved to have kept going. He slipped on a rock hidden by the snow and fell to the ground once more. He lay on his back and looked at the sky. Before him, the blue one he had created slowly dissipated, leaving the black sky to take back its position. He was happy about that.

   “Stars,” he whispered. “I knew there would be stars.” With that, Bruda let out a long sigh and one single tear rolled down his cheek, eventually getting lost in his beard. He closed his eyes for the final time. And darkness fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, Bruda's final stand goes well with 'The Carronites Swarm' by Murray Gold.


	37. Pyres and Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to say farewell but hope burns eternal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comment below. What do you make of what's happened so far? Things you enjoyed? Things you thought would have taken a different course?  
> The first section goes well with the song 'Farewell' by Ramin Djawadi.

Daenerys’ level of worry somehow increased as she saw the foreboding night sky return above them as they flew. Viserion landed with a loud thud in the snow. She slid off his side, followed at a slower pace by Jorah. He was giving her the space she needed to cope with this moment. He could already tell what had happened and knew that, until she saw it for herself, there was no way she was going to accept that it had happened. But even from where the dragon had landed they could see a lone body lying in the snow, a surprising distance from where the golden explosion had occurred. She put a hand to her mouth and allowed the tears to finally fall. She ran to the body as fast as her legs would allow before kneeling on the ground. She sobbed as she looked at the prone figure of Bruda. Jorah couldn’t remember a time he had ever seen her show this side of her emotions so clearly. She’d always been able to hold that sadness in, even if he didn't think that was the healthy thing to do. But it surprised him to see it even now; it highlighted to him how much the warlock had meant to her.

   She stroked the cool face of the body gently with her hand, noting how it was already cold to the touch. She took some consolation in the fact that he looked the most at peace she had ever seen him. She ran her hand through his wild beard, tears still falling down her cheeks. Jorah stood back, watching, as he allowed her to grieve. He had been brought up as a strong Northerner, told never to let his emotions show since they implied weakness. Yet, as he saw his friend lying there, he found that he was really struggling to follow that inbuilt nature of his. It was made worse by the sight of Daenerys,on the floor, leaning over Bruda as she repeatedly uttered the single word “no” over and over again. It was if she believed that, through sheer will alone, she’d be able to bring that vibrant and charismatic man back to the land of the living. After a while, she whispered a phrase that Jorah couldn’t hear into the warlock’s ear. She might tell him one day what she said but now was definitely not the time. She sat up eventually, looking into the distance and then to Jorah.

   “He saved us all,” she muttered, although she didn't sound too happy about. Her voice kept breaking as she spoke. “He has saved so many lives. People he will never know. How is it fair that they get to live and he doesn’t?” She wanted to scream into the cold, night air.

   “You know he wouldn’t have wanted to live if it meant others dying. That would go against his whole nature.”

   “He knew he was going to die, didn't he?” 

   “It’s likely. I think he accepted his fate a long time ago. He knew that the Night King was one enemy too far in the end. It took too much energy out of him to destroy him. He spoke about magical exhaustion before. As if he was preparing us for this to happen and yet we didn't pay enough notice.”

   “So it was just another secret he kept to himself, right until the very end.”

   “Would you have allowed him to walk away if you’d known what the likely outcome was?”

   “...no.”

   “Exactly. And he would have figured that out. He didn't even have to tell us what his name really meant. He could have done all this without divulging that information. But he trusted us enough to tell us. He cared about you so much he was willing to risk everything to make you happy.”

   “And I let him die.”

   “You did not!” She was shocked by the angry outburst. “And if he heard you say that, he’d be just as angry with you as I am.” She just wanted to wallow in self pity. She observed his face again.

   “I just want people to know what he did. Not just today but since joining us.” She backed up slightly in alarm as his hands began to glow the familiar golden colour. Daenerys stood up, backing into Jorah. The golden energy spread across the whole of his body until it was glowing brightly.

   “What’s happening?” she asked, frightened. 

   “I think he knows now. His body was waiting. He always spoke of stories and how they were crucial.” She remembered that pleasant conversation they had shared at Dragonstone, the same one that had helped her eventually figure out his secret. “He wanted to be remembered. And he now knows that he will be.” They watched as the golden energy grew brighter before it began to split into tiny particles. His body began to dissipate as the particles drifted into the air. Daenerys snuggled into Jorah closely, crying even harder, as they watched him disappear into the night sky. She hoped that he made it to the stars so that his tale would be able to dance amongst them. An outline of his body was left in the snow and she noticed something remaining there. She knelt down and smiled despite everything. It was still a sad smile. She picked the object up and showed it to Jorah. It was the pin she had commissioned to be made for him to represent his place in her council. She held it tight to her chest.

   She was still holding it as they made their way into the courtyard. There was a strange silence that filled the air as people tried to wrap their minds around what had happened. Some people were just wandering around the cobbled area, trying their best not to look at all the bodies that were strewn over the ground. Although most of the corpses were recognisable as wights, there was still a troubling amount of bodies that had been fighting on their side. The cleaning up process had already begun with bodies being pushed to one side, departed people being separated from the unholy creatures. It wouldn’t do to leave them out in the open for too long. Not only did it keep the horrors of the battle right in front of them, it also disrespected those who had sacrificed everything. Daenerys was doing her best to look at every person who had fallen. She felt that she needed to acknowledge them even if they hadn’t been fighting directly on behalf. She felt considerable amounts of guilt when she saw Dothraki warriors being moved to one pile, the people she had brought here only for her own gain. Had she been selfish? Had she caused the death of these people, along with Bruda? She gripped the pin tighter.

   “Oh I am glad to see you two!” came a recognisable shout from across the yard. Davos, his face speckled with blood, walked over to them with a relieved expression on his face. Daenerys was warmed by the smile he wore on his face but didn't have the heart to show it on her face. “When you went off Jorah, I feared the worst. I don’t know how I got through it all. A brave young lad fought by my side. Helped me get the best of a particularly large swarm of them. He...didn't make it. I was meaning to have a word with Stannis, see if I can reach out to his family or something.” He was wary of the sombre expressions they were wearing. “And you, your Grace! Up there in the sky! A sight to behold. You saved a lot of people tonight.” That didn't make her feel any better. “But then, I guess that son of a bitch did it again. If only I could be surprised by his talents. Have you seen him? There’s a lot of people that would like to make their gratitude known.”

   Daenerys started crying again and Davos had no clue what he had said to prompt such a reaction. He looked at Jorah, who kept the grave expression on his face. 

   “Bruda...that explosion you saw...you know he caused it...but he ultimately perished in it too.” Davos took a step back, attempting to stop the tears from falling. He threw his sword to the ground with a loud clang, causing others nearby to look up in alarm. He kept shaking his head, not accepting the hard truth.

   “Shit,” he muttered with anger evident in his voice. “The one person I thought who was guaranteed to get through all of this.” He looked at Daenerys and tilted her chin so that she was looking at him. He wiped a few tears away, wincing when he saw the mud he left behind on her cheeks. “He was a good man. One of the best I knew. And he wouldn’t want you spending so much effort mourning him. I know you’ll need time, we all will. But the best way of honouring his death is moving on from this and winning that Throne.” She reluctantly nodded her head and he gave her a small smile. Unnoticed by them, nearby, Melisandre rushed away fighting back her own tears.

**********

   Outside Winterfell, a day after the events of the battle against the Night King’s army, multiple wooden piles had been erected, logs stacked on top of each other. On top of them lay the dead. The ones filled with Wight corpses were already burning away, no one giving them any notice. They may have been victims themselves but they just couldn’t look past the facades of monsters they had worn the day before. The fires were sending an acrid smell across the grounds of the castle but people still stood there, watching in silence as they waited for the ceremony to begin. A few members of the crowd stood holding flaming torches in front of each stack. It was a solemn duty they had but one they had gravely accepted.

   One of those people was Daenerys, whose already dire mood after the massive loss she had suffered had only worsened after discovering that Ser Barristan Selmy has been one of the many people to fall in the battle. His body lay closest to her and she looked at his ashen face. He had saved her life the first time he had met her and had subsequently served her valiantly. He was the noble knight that she had desired, who was devoted to protecting her. She felt quite sad that she had never grown close to him, especially considering her relationships with Jorah, Bruda, and even Davos now. But that wasn’t the sort of person he had been. Driven by duty and a clever strategic mind. He had wanted to die a knight and he had done just that in her eyes.

   Further down the line stood a forlorn Bronn. He had been on the brink of finally succumbing to the hordes of the undead when the ones around him had suddenly dropped to the ground. That last minute intervention had left him feeling very lucky, maybe undeservedly so. Because he had then soon seen his two...associates...accomplices...friends on the ground. He hadn’t cried. He wasn’t the crying sort. But he had been left to wonder why he had been spared. They were much better people than him, especially Brienne. Jaime had definitely grown as a person, whilst he had only stagnated, remaining the selfish man he had always been. Was he going to change? Probably not. It wasn’t worth it now. He had no one left to work for. He’d go back to his sellsword ways. He hadn’t made a single penny for quite a while now, after all. But, for their sake, he’d be more careful when choosing who he worked for. He felt they’d appreciate that. It was possible that they had helped him become a slightly better person. Possibly. He’d never openly admit it. He’d think it, for them. He looked at their bodies, appropriately laid out next to each other. He knew that they had been close, strangely so. It was as if they were destined to be together. They’d just taken that too fucking literally, he thought bitterly. He reached down, staring one last time at Jaime before he reached down and unclasped the golden hand he was wearing. It symbolised the growth Jaime had been through in a sense. It wasn’t right to let it melt in the fire as if that growth was for nothing. He’d keep it to remember them by and to remind him that he could still grow too.

   Tormund, wearing an unusually sombre expression compared to his frequent playful snarl, was another person tasked with lighting one of the pyres. On it lay his long-time leader and comrade, Mance Rayder, whose midsection had been cleaned to some extent to remove the most obvious signs of his fatal wound. This wasn’t about thinking about how they died but instead remembering who they had been beforehand. He had been an incredibly sour and blunt man but one of the most politically intelligent figures he had ever met. Jon, who was standing by his side, was having similar thoughts. When they first met, Mance could have easily had him killed there and then. But he had obviously seen something in him, which Jon still couldn’t figure out. A brave man. Doing anything to protect his people. Uniting them as one large force, striking a political deal with Stannis to secure their safety, and, ultimately, dying in the fight to save them. He was yet another mentor figure that Jon had lost. First Eddard Stark, who had shown him fleeting moments of compassion when Catelyn hadn’t been looking. Then Jeor Mormont, who had helped him become a better man and fighter as part of a group, turning him away from a life of being the lone wolf. And now Mance. Yet, he felt that he didn't deserve the right to mourn - there were many wildlings still alive who had lost their saviour. His grievances didn't come close to what they must have been feeling. He stroked the ear of Ghost, who was lying by his side. Well, at least the one ear that was remaining. It seemed that a Wight had managed to bite one off, yet his direwolf had continued to fight. He was just happy to see that he had made it through the battle.

   Tormund also took the time to look over at the body of Brienne. He had been devastated to learn about the fate of the big woman. She was a woman who could have matched him stride for stride. He had never seen someone like her before. Sure, she had never given him the time of day, as he had slowly come to realise, but that hadn’t perturbed him. He’d let her down by surviving when she hadn’t. It was at the same time that Jon turned to observe the corpse of Theon, who was on the same pyre as Mance. Jon didn't know what to think when he looked at him. He felt that he should have been more upset about the death of Yara, her mangled body lying next to her brother’s. They had found him still in the room he had been instructed to defend, shards of ice surrounding him. What mattered was that Bran was still alive, although he had been strangely recluse ever since the battle had ended. That meant that Theon had stayed true to his promise to guard the boy and so he had made up, in part, for what he had done. He fully appreciated the sacrifice that had been made but felt that, in a sense, it had been done as the easiest way of redemption. He hated himself for thinking that but he couldn’t push that thought to the back of his mind.

   The two of them looked back at Mance. Tormund glanced over at Jon before handing him the torch. Jon took it but still sent a confused look to the wildling. 

   “He would have wanted you to do it,” he said gruffly, a sad tone evident in his voice. “You were his work in progress.” Again, Jon didn't know what to feel about that but, accepting this as the dead man’s final wish, he gripped the torch tightly. All of the torchbearers, with everyone else looking on mournfully, took a couple of steps forward. Each of them taking one last look at those closest to them who had fallen, they slowly lowered the flames down to the wood, the material instantly catching fire. The flames spread quickly across the pyres and they all watched as their comrades turned to ash. This was them moving on from the horrors they had been through whilst still remembering those who had got them to this point. They kept watching as embers floated into the sky. It reminded Daenerys of what had happened to Bruda’s body and she wondered whether he had been right about everyone’s stories eventually reaching the stars.

**********

   Melisandre stood alone in her room, trying to comprehend the thoughts running through her mind. After setting the trenches on fire before the battle had started, she had locked herself away in her room, barring the windows shut in the hope that it would stop any wights that got near. She realised that it wasn’t the bravest choice; that thought came back to her when she had seen all the bodies on the ground outside. It was more about surviving. She wasn’t a fighter and so would have likely caused more damage than help, or simply perished as soon as the fighting began. That’s what she kept telling herself anyway. Bruda had instructed her to be the controller of her fate and she had done just that. She had been vindicated in that inner belief when she had managed to start the fires. He had been right, once again.

   She stroked the choker that was around her neck. It still sent slight sparks down her fingertips when she touched it. It felt alive almost. She reckoned that it was just down to the pure magic that was coursing through it. Her previous necklace hadn’t been the same since her magic came only when she asked for it. Bruda was special. Had been special. She blinked back tears as she thought about his death. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried - it was an unnatural feeling to her, as if anything that had happened was at all natural in the first place. He had known it was coming. That was clear in their conversation. Yet he had accepted his fate, showing that he was much braver than her. Which made it all the more painful. Why had she lived instead of him? Was it just the unfair hand of Fate? Or was something else in play that she was currently aware of? Had Bruda been aware of it? These sort of questions kept running through her head as she leaned it against the cold stone wall. 

   She was startled when her door slammed open, only relaxing slightly when she realised it was Stannis who had entered. She hadn’t been entirely sure he had survived up until this point. It should have concerned her more that she hadn’t cared to think about his fate. She observed his demeanour. He seemed even angrier than usual, which was saying something. There was a fresh scar running down from his forehead and his lower lip was busted. It just added to his overall grim demeanour. He scowled at her presence, making her wonder why he had searched her out if he was going to act in such a manner. It didn't stop her from slowly walking towards him, dropping her hand from its place on her necklace. He hadn’t noticed the change in its colour, which wasn’t a surprise. He never truly looked at her. She was as much a tool to him as he had been to her. A toxic relationship if there had ever been one.

   “I see you survived then,” he began gruffly. Something was obviously bothering him.

   “Yes. You also managed to get through the battle.” She needed to sound happier about that.

   “Of course I did. That was expected. I have to win the Throne after all.” Even right after the battle, he was obsessed with his next target. She’d find it an admirable trait in anyone else than him.

   “Of course,” she agreed, knowing her place. It wasn’t the time to push him as she usually did. He seemed to be in a heightened emotional state.

   “People out there are saying that it was that bitch’s warlock that stopped the Night King. What do you make of those claims?” This was a dangerous question judging by the tone of his voice.

   “I couldn’t possibly know for sure. I don’t think anyone will know for definite, especially since he perished in the fight.” It hurt her to openly say those words, something that was compounded when he seemed to smirk at the news. It was a fleeting show of happiness though. “It wouldn’t be a surprise to me if he did though. He was a powerful man.”

   “Interesting, interesting. Because, even if it wasn’t him who did it, it still seems to me that someone else did. When I was told I would be the one to defeat him. Now, who was it that told me that?” She took a step back, fearful of the look he was giving her. He waited a moment before continuing. “Oh that’s right - it was you.” He took a threatening step towards her, causing her to move further back. She was slowly running out of space. “You foretold that I was the Prince that was Promised. So why was I nowhere near him when the time came? Why wasn’t I the one to fulfil my destiny?” His voice was getting louder now. “It makes me wonder what other lies you have told me. What other nonsense you have sprouted.” 

   “Sometimes the Lord of Light is wrong,” she tried reasoning.

   “Oh? Is that so? Then what is the point of having you?!” he shouted loudly. He produced a dagger from his coat pocket, pointing it directly at her. Her back was pressed firmly against the wall as he closed in on her. “You swoon over him. Going on about how powerful he was.” There was a scarily feral look in his eye. “He didn't know the first thing about power. But I do. Because that’s my destiny. And I won’t let you or anyone else stop me.” He lunged his arm towards her, the blade heading straight for her midsection. She closed her eyes, anticipating the sharp pain of metal in her gut. But instead, a shield of golden energy shot out from the gem in her necklace, stopping the blade inches from her flesh. They both looked down, perplexed. The blade began to turn hot in Stannis’ hand, causing him to shout out in pain and drop it to the floor. The shield disappeared and they were left in the cold darkness once more. He looked at her confused and wounded, holding his hand gingerly.

   “What did you do?” he asked her angrily.

   “I...don't know.” He stared at her for a moment before quickly storming out of the room. She sank back to the wall, slowly allowing herself to slide down it. She touched the gem once more, this time feeling an unrecognisable warmth there. That had definitely not been her magic. Which meant it had to be  _ his. _

_   “And lucky for you, I guess you could say you now have a small part of me.”  _ She thought back to their conversation, running it through her head. If that was true, was his magic still, in a small way, with her? 

_  “Just because I must be directed, it doesn’t mean you have to be.”  _ Had he been talking about her fate, or actually his? Was he the other force still in play?

**********

   Daenerys had secluded herself away in her room, using the bathroom as her hiding place. She had spoken to no one after the mass funeral, not even Jorah, who was standing outside the bathroom door, still trying to convince her to come out. It wouldn’t be healthy for her to grieve on her own. And he felt it was now part of his duty as her...what was he to her? Knight? Consort? Lover? He had no clue and it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he knew he needed to be there for her. She was just making it extremely difficult. He had first seen her mourn after Khal Drogo’s untimely passing and he thought that this was on a different level for some reason. He couldn’t fathom how deeply she had cared for the warlock. Bruda had said it himself about how falling in love always left you open to heartbreak. He guessed she had similar feelings towards him. Jorah didn't know how to feel about that really.

   He turned around as there was a knock at the bedroom door. He moved over to it, getting a surprise when he discovered it was the Red Woman who was visiting. She had a troubled expression on her face so, despite his wariness towards her reasonings for her arrival, he let her into the room. He watched as she slowly circled the room, running her fingers over the odd object. She was an incredibly strange woman, he presumed it was a part of the whole religious nut thing. Yet she seemed to just be observing things. Just having a mild curiosity. He hadn’t really interacted with her before this point so an awkward silence descended between them. She’d been at their little gathering before the battle so knew that Bruda had grown to like her eventually.

   “Where is she?” she asked. He pointed to the locked door that led to the bathroom.

   “She’s been in there since the ceremony,” he said. “Nothing I say will get her out.” She could clearly hear the worry in his voice.

   “She will just need time. It’s always difficult to get over the death of a loved one.”

   “I don’t mean to be rude but...why are you here?” It seemed the obvious question in the circumstances.

   “I have the feeling that I need to speak with her.” That’s all she said. She continued to move around until she stopped at a small table by the bed. She picked up something off and stared at it in her hands.

   “What is this?” She held out the pin Daenerys had given Bruda. She’d put it there when she’d got back, not wanting to look at it any longer. Melisandre recognised it slightly but couldn’t place it.

   “Daenerys had it made for him. Said it signalled his place next to her. He wore it all the time. Always seemed to be proud to do so. It was all that was left after his body...went.” She wanted to inquire more about what he’d finished on but past words from the warlock were once again coming back to her.

_ “You’ve had that thing on for so long that it became a part of you. That’s what magic does. Seemingly inanimate objects bind themselves to the person, intertwining themselves with the very fabric and essence of said person. _ ” He couldn’t have. Surely that was beyond even his powers. 

_ “I’m just that amazing.”  _ Was there something hidden in his messages to her? She was lost in thought, worrying Jorah, when the bathroom door slammed open and Daenerys slowly walked into the room. She looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy, the skin around them deep and dark. She’d obviously been crying a lot. Her skin was pale everywhere else. Jorah was instantly by her side, fretting over her, but she brushed him away as she locked eyes with Melisandre.

   “What are you doing here?” she asked with a scathing tone.

   “I wanted to offer my condolences to you. I can tell how much he meant to you.”

   “Why would you care? You hardly know me. You barely knew him!” 

   “You know more than anyone else the effect he can have on people, even in a short time.” Daenerys didn't like what she was implying. Why was she being strangely protective of him? She shouldn’t care what he did in his own time. Or who he did. She looked at Melisandre, observing her blood-red dress. And then it clicked.

   “Wait a minute. I remember Bruda telling me something. That Thoros of Myr was like you.”

   “He followed the Lord of Light, yes.”

   “He brought back that man from the dead.”

   “I believe so.” Daenerys nodded her head and then noticed Jorah’s sword resting against bed leg near her. She quickly bent down and picked it up, soon pointing it at Melisandre with an unwavering steely look in her eyes. Jorah again rushed to her side, not knowing what she’d do with it in the state she was in. Daenerys wouldn’t let go of it, keeping it directed at the Red Woman.

   “Bring him back,” she said, almost in a monotone. “Bring Bruda back to me.”

   “Khaleesi,” Jorah interrupted. “He wouldn’t want you to act like this. This isn’t you.”

   “I don’t care!” she shouted. “I don’t care if it kills her. I don’t even care if it kills me! She will bring him back or, so help me, I will rain down fire upon her.” Jorah had never seen her like this before. Melisandre was wary that the protection the gem had given before with Stannis wouldn’t intervene with Daenerys. Bruda’s magic wouldn’t know to attack her. She looked at the sword being held by the younger woman. She’d seen the knight with his sword before but didn't think she’d seen this one before.

   “Where did you get this from?” The question took them both by surprise.

   “Daenerys had it made for me,” Jorah answered slowly.

   “It was only possible because of Bruda. He suggested forging it out of Valyrian steel using a part of his staff,” Daenerys said, cautious as to why she was asking this. Melisandre visibly relaxed at that and allowed a small smile to grace her red lips.

   “He’s so unbelievably amazing,” she muttered quietly but loud enough for them to hear. Daenerys arched an eyebrow.

   “What do you mean?”

   “I think I can bring him back.”


	38. Respect and Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommen and Margaery's relationship shows its cracks as Daenerys holds onto her last piece of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, comment with your thoughts

The people of King’s Landing were becoming increasingly impatient with their young king. And his council members were fully aware of the growing problem. The issue was that Tommen, over the recent weeks and months, had grown very paranoid over the threat of the two people who had the potential of toppling his reign seemingly joining together in the North. What had made his mood worsen was the lack of any movement on their behalf. From all accounts, they were still holed up in Winterfell. Doing...nothing. That couldn’t be the case. That couldn’t possibly be the case. It wouldn’t make sense. He had expected them to be at the city walls weeks ago. Yet nothing had come into the city for quite a while. In fact, many of the citizens were opting to move out from their homes and travel away from the capital due to the degrading quality of life. His councillors had attempted to bring this up in meetings but he wouldn’t listen. He didn't care about the commoners. Not when his safety was on the line. This was his moment, after living in the shadow of his family members. He wasn’t going to lose it, especially to his treacherous uncle and a young girl. 

   Tommen had even stopped allowing the peasants that remained a chance to voice their grievances in the main hall of the Red Keep. That troubled Margaery the most. She’d previously used her political standing to acknowledge the needs of the lower class and so therefore knew how quickly grumblings could turn into dangerous revolts. If he carried on down this route, it wouldn’t matter if Daenerys Targaryen flew over on one of her dragons within the day. He’d have long been dragged through the streets because of his behaviour. Margaery had constantly tried to nonchalantly slip it into conversation when they were going to bed. He wasn’t appreciating the power and force the people he had. He was just like his mother in that sense. But he’d quickly go to sleep, not even giving her a chaste kiss to keep the facade of their love going. Any affection he had had for her was now gone. So much so that, over the past couple of days, he had suggested that she should bed in another room. He said it was so that, if an attack happened, their forces would have to find two targets instead of one. She knew that was born out of no consideration for her safety.

   The only acknowledgement of their concerns he had shown was instructing the High Sparrow to order the more militant members of the Faith to wander the streets and monitor any people who whispered ill of him. The easiest way of quelling an uprising was rooting it out from its source, he had argued, with a mag glint in his eyes. The only issue there was that it added to the overall miserable attitude across the city, prompting more people to become frustrated at his actions, leading to more chance of a revolt. When Olenna had sagely pointed this out, he had quickly rebutted her worries, claiming that, if that were the case, he would simply have the Kingsguard join the Faith in their patrols. The public wouldn’t dare challenge a knight in armour. She had pretended to contemplate his proposal, making him think that he had won her over. But then she had stood up from her seat, bowed her head at Margaery and not Tommen, and left the council room. She had subsequently left King’s Landing, presumably travelling back to Highgarden. She hadn’t even bid farewell to her granddaughter, her departure was so haste. It left Margaery feeling the weakest she had ever felt whilst married to Tommen. She’d always been able to have a sway over him, especially with Olenna’s helpful advice, but that power had vanished along with any sane thoughts he used to have.

   It left her not only lacking in a mentor figure to help her through the difficult political landscape, but she was also now without any close allies in the capital. Tommen certainly showed her no interest. Kevan Lannister didn’t remotely have a strong enough backbone to vocally question the king. Mace Tyrell, her father, barely showed his face in the capital and wouldn’t dream of challenging the boy who controlled him. And the High Sparrow was only concerned with his Faith. As long as Tommen didn’t question their presence, the Sparrow wouldn’t question his policies and overall mindset.

   It was in one of these council meetings that Margaery currently found herself in. It was noticeably low on numbers, as it usually was nowadays. Tommen occupied his usual seat at the head of the table. She sat by his side, opposite Kevan. The High Sparrow was absent, which was a frequent occurrence. He spent most of his time in the Great Sept of Baelor.

   “What do you think they’re doing?” Tommen asked in a low mutter. Margaery wished she could roll her eyes or sigh loudly but she kept a straight face as she’d learnt to do. “They must be planning something large in an attempt to topple me.” As ever, Kevan was quick to assuage his worries.

   “From my experience, Targaryens are notoriously hot tempered and quick to lose their temper. Your uncle is exactly the same, or even worse, although he is better at hiding it. It is a toxic relationship and one that won’t stay firm long enough to trouble you. You have no reason to worry about them.”

   “And if they do launch an attack?”

   “Then we have enough men to crush them, your Grace.”

   “What do you think, my love?” His use of the term of endearment caught her off guard. Maybe he was in a good enough mood for her to propose some new ideas.

   “You are the king. That sets the precedent that you are protected enough to be able to stop any attack.”

   “I don’t want to be the king that fights, not the one who hides behind his army.” He’d die if he fought in a war, she thought.

   “Maybe you would be stronger if people were happier in the streets.” Tommen’s fairly positive demeanour vanishes.

   “Those peasants should be happy enough that I let them live here.”

   “But…”

   “No!” he shouted. “I have told you before that I will not waste my time or resources in helping those...scum. They don’t deserve it. And if you continue to fail to see that, maybe you shouldn’t be in this room.” She wanted to scream at him. Shout at him. Instead, she just stood up and walked out of the room.

**********

   “You...you can bring him back?” Daenerys’ voice was shaky due to the emotional implications that arose with what Melsiandre had said. When she had seen the Red Woman in her room, her sadness had boiled into rage, distraught at the injustice of Bruda’s death. That anger had fueled her subsequent actions, so much so that she now barely remembered picking up Jorah’s sword. She’d acted in a faze, her body moving impulsively. Her hands shook slightly, her grip on the sword becoming looser as she took in Melisandre’s words. Surely she wouldn’t say such a thing without good reason. If she was doing this just to save herself...Daenerys didn't know if she would be able to control herself if that was the case.

   “I presume you have already figured out he knew what his fate was. That he had to die for the Night King to have the same fate.” She and Jorah nodded. “He practically confirmed it to me in a...conversation we shared.” Daenerys frowned, not too happy that the warlock had seemingly grown close to this woman. She wanted to be his closest female friend. It was incredibly petty of her but she didn't care.

   “So he knew it was going to happen,” Jorah said. “Will that help with bringing him back?”

   “You were his closest allies. You know better than anyone else in the kingdom how intelligent he was. How he always had a trick up his sleeve.” She wandered back over to the table, picking up the metal brooch again. Daenerys became defensive again, not wanting anyone else to have access to it. Jorah, seeing her shift towards the other woman, put a hand on one of her shoulders to stop her. “Tell me, if Bruda knew he had to die and couldn’t figure out any way of preventing that event, what would be his next step?”

   “He’d find a way to bring himself back.”

   “Exactly. But he couldn’t tell us about this because then we’d stop his sacrifice in the first place.” Daenerys knew that was true, trying not to feel the blush creeping up her neck. “Yet he needed us to know about his plan. A conundrum if there ever was one. That would never stop him though. He left clues behind. I can’t possibly imagine how much planning went into each sentence he uttered to us all.”

   “Are you saying that you’re unable to bring him back using the normal methods?” Daenerys asked, unsure whether any of this was normal. “The Lord of Light has brought back people before on the behest of his followers. Why can’t you just do that?”

   “It’s more complicated when the person in question has magical abilities. Even with a low level user, such as myself, bringing them back would likely leave them without any of their original powers. Bruda had more power than anyone I’ve ever seen. Basic magic would not be able to replicate such a strong magical imprint.”

   “You said he left clues,” Jorah prompted.

   “He told me that objects, when close to a person with magical abilities, can bind themselves to the wearer after a certain amount of time.” She looked back down at the badge. “This fits that description.”

   “So perform the ceremony with it now then,” Daenerys said urgently, not wanting to waste any time.

   “There is still not enough magic in it. He only had it a short time. We require something that held his energy for a long time.” Daenerys’ eyes widened.

   “His staff!” she exclaimed with exuberance.

   “We couldn’t find it, remember,” Jorah interrupted sadly. She deflated immediately. 

   “I think he expected that. Which is why he took a precaution.” Melisandre eyed the sword that was in Daenerys’ hands.

   “It’s forged from Valyrian steel from his staff,” she realised. The Red Woman unclasped the necklace from around her neck.

   “Clues for us all. The badge for you, Daenerys. The sword for you, Ser Mormont. And this...a gem containing the pure essence of his magic. So much in fact that it protected me from Stannis just before.” That took them by surprise but thought it wasn’t the time to discuss what had happened. 

   “We can actually do this,” Daenerys whispered, the first smile in days lighting up her face.

   “There’s one last thing. Necromancy, in any form, is a very particular form of magic. It requires certain criteria. This sort of resurrection, if it can even be termed as such, is dependent on something called a Vita Quaternity. To bring him back, we need four objects connected to him. Bruda will have known that. So far, we have three. I can’t think of who else he’d trust enough to hide one of these with.” Jorah and Daenerys looked at each other for a moment.

   “Davos,” they said in unison.

   “I’m on it,” Jorah followed up, walking out of the room as he searched for the final piece of the puzzle. That left Daenerys alone with Melisandre. She was still wary of her, not willing to trust her fully until she came through with this promise.

   “I know how much you cared for him,” Melisandre said to break the silence. “Just know that I cared for him too...eventually. Maybe when it was too late. Maybe just in time. Not as much as you. I don’t think anyone felt as strongly as you towards him.”

   “You’re right. I was closer to him than you,” Daenerys replied icily, even though her heart wasn’t in it. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be treating you like that. It’s just been...difficult.”

   “You have no reason to trust me yet. I understand.”

   “Maybe I should. Bruda apparently trusted you before he died.”

   “For all I know, he thought I was the only one who had the ability to do all this. I doubt it was done out of trust or anything like that. More out of necessity.” Daenerys walked up to her and awkwardly placed a hand on the other woman’s cheek.

   “Bruda wasn’t...isn’t that sort of person.” Melisandre smiled softly.

   “Which is why we have to try and bring him back.”

   “Which is why we will bring him back.” The two shared a smile, the first time Daenerys had been comfortable with her. It felt nice to be able to do so.

**********

   Jon found Tormund drinking by the large fire in the main hall of Winterfell. He was perched on one of the long tables, one foot on the bench, the other planted on the floor as he looked out the window forlornly. Ghost was curled up into a furry, white ball, enjoying the pleasant heat of the roaring fire. It was one of the few places in the castle that managed to create a semblance of warmth. Yet Jon didn't think the wildling was bothered about; the amount of beer he had obviously consumed was probably warming him up from the outside. He didn't like seeing Tormund in the state he was, so far from his usual exuberant self. Mance’s death was eating away at him. It was doing the same to Jon but the effect was dampened, especially compared to the other man who had known him for a much longer time. The atmosphere across Winterfell was a strange one. There was an air of happiness because they’d won but an overwhelming tinge of sadness with the thought of all those people who had died. The mass funeral ceremony had been difficult for many people, especially Tormund. Jon had expected him to be hiding somewhere. It had taken a few tries before stumbling across him.

   “You can’t possibly drink all your sorrows away,” Jon said, bringing down his hood as he came in from the cold, rubbing his hands together to make them start feeling again.

   “I can do what the fuck I like,” Tormund replied briskly without even turning his head to face the new arrival. Ghost had partially lifted his head in curiosity but had quickly gone back to his previous position. 

   “I couldn’t try and stop you even if I truly wanted to,” he admitted, taking a seat on the bench opposite the table Tormund was sitting on. Jon took his gloves off and held his hands out to the fire.

   “At least you understand something for once.” Jon was willing to forgive him for the insult just this once.

   “I may as well join you, if that’s okay?”

   “You can do what you want. You’re a grown man, even if you’re a lot smaller than the ones I know.” Maybe he’d let that insult slide too. He was feeling generous. Yet, despite his tone, he produced another cup and poured a quick splash of amber liquid into it before passing it over to Jon. They both held their cups up in the air, sharing a silent moment in memory of the fallen wildling king. Tormund downed his drink quickly before moving onto another one soon after. Jon made sure to take his time. He wasn’t as accustomed to the burn of alcohol as his friend. 

   “It feels strange that the war is actually over,” he admitted. Tormund grunted.

   “All my life, I’ve been told the truth about the Others. We were always heading to this, no matter what the skeptics said. I knew my place. Bred to fight two enemies. The likes of them. And the likes of you.” He stared for a moment at Jon, unnerving him. He was worried that he actually would attack him since he was under the influence and already a fairly crazed man. He then started laughing, a loud roar that surprised Jon, causing him to nearly drop his drink to the floor. “I’ve seen you with a sword. I may be bigger, and stronger, and mightier...but I’m also smart enough to not challenge you in a fight.”

   Jon allowed a slow breath to be let out as he chuckled slightly. “Well, I’m glad about that.”

   “And you’re basically a brother to me now.” He said it quietly as if he were ashamed. Tormund looked away, staring once again out of the window. Jon knew he wouldn’t want a big deal to be made out of it so didn't say anything. He just allowed a small smile to grow on his face.

   “What are your plans now?” he asked instead. Tormund looked at him again, taking another swig.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Well, it’s like you said. All your life led up to this battle and it’s now over. Do you know what the wildlings are planning on doing?” Tormund just huffed.

   “Mance would have sorted that all out in the past.” He shook his head. “You have no idea how difficult it is to get those people to do anything together. It was the main skill Rayder had.”

   “I don’t think you’ll be able to stay here. Stannis is the sort to use you for his own end and then get rid of you. In his eyes, you’ve finished your job.”

   “Yet he’ll be leaving Winterfell. Trying to win that Throne you people are always talking about. This place is your home once he goes.”

   “Not necessarily. Bran has the better claim to it. I’m not a proper Stark. I never have been.”

   “Then what are your plans then?” Tormund eyed him curiously.

   “I...don’t know.” The question flummoxed Jon, which surprised him. He hadn’t given it any thought so far. “I might go with Daenerys to King’s Landing. She helped us so it’s only fair that I help her.”

   “What if she loses out to Stannis? Are you willing to serve him as much as her?” Jon stayed quiet, internally knowing the answer to that question. Tormund knew too what the silence meant. “Exactly. So why not avoid the risk?”

   “Is that at all possible?”

   “With Mance gone, there’s a hole gaping for our people. I’m no leader. But, from what I’ve seen, you are.” He stood up, stroking Ghost as he got up, and headed for the door. Jon sat thinking. “You’ve got some decisions to make, Snow.”

**********

   Melisandre and Daenerys stood just outside the gates of Winterfell, trying unsuccessfully to fight the cold wind. Daenerys was clad in a thick white coat with a metal chain draped over her chest whilst the Red Woman was wearing her usual long and wavy crimson dress, which was blowing wildly around her. She’d chosen to do this away from the main courtyard where most people would be just in case something went wrong. That possibility had unnerved Daenerys, not only because she had quietly grown to be more confident about their prospects of success but also because it brought home the fact that what they were doing could be extremely dangerous. They had just gotten through a war - it would be ironic for them to subsequently perish in a magical accident. Melisandre had spoken to her about how, because Bruda’s magic was so strong and potent, the chances of something going wrong were more numerous. Again, it had done nothing to quell her fears.

   They turned around as they heard footsteps approaching them from behind. Jorah was leading a confused Davos away from the castle grounds and they could hear the latter’s constant complaints from where they were. The knight had found Davos in his small room, about to drink from a glass of whiskey in memory of the warlock. He had simply told him whether he had anything in his possession that Bruda could have possibly left as a key to his return. Davos had immediately wanted to ask a number of questions but Jorah had told him there was little time for his queries. They had proceeded to look around his room, not finding anything that fit the criteria until Davos stumbled across the dragon that Shireen had left behind for him. When he had told Jorah that Bruda had spoken to the young girl before her departure, the old bear had figured that it must be the small sculpture that had a role to play. They hadn’t been totally sure but it was the best idea they had.

   “Can someone please explain to me what is going on?” Davos shouted as they neared the two women. He grew anxious when he saw Melisandre, remembering what awful things she was capable of. What had she promised these two? They ignored his question, focusing instead on Jorah.

   “Did you find it?” Melisandre said with a neutral tone. Jorah produced the small wooden dragon figurine from one of his pockets, handing it over to the Red Woman. Daenerys observed it carefully as the other woman turned it over in her hands.

   “We think this is the only possibility,” he responded. The inclusion of the word ‘think’ concerned Daenerys. She could tell he wasn’t totally sure.

   “But if Bruda interacted with it...surely it has to be,” Daenerys said, looking over at Davos for confirmation.

   “I made it for Shireen. He had no role to play in its creation. All I know is that he talked to her and she gave me this as a result of that conversation.”

   “Bruda didn't need the objects to be made by himself,” Melisandre pointed out. She ran her hand over the wooden toy. A small golden tendril of energy appeared, as if it was fire coming out from the dragon’s mouth. Daenerys leaned closer to look at it, reaching her hand to allow the energy to pass over it. “Look. Just a touch of magic. Nothing more than a hint. Barely a whisper. It was done just to complete the quaternity. The major force behind it will be the sword.”

   “Sword?” Davos asked, perplexed. “I will ask again - what are you lot planning?” Daenerys turned to him with pleading eyes. 

   “We think it’s possible to bring him back.”

   “Who? Bruda?” Davos sounded extremely skeptical.

   Daenerys nodded. “He left hints of his magic behind before he...died. It might be possible to use them to anchor him back to reality.” Davis squinted his eyes at Melisandre who observed him with a cool expression.

   “And I’m sure it was her who told you all this.” He snatched back the figurine, causing Daenerys to look at him in alarm. “You have not seen what she can do. I’ve witnessed the horrors she’s been apart of. What if she’s just using you? Using this supposed magic to make herself stronger. Bruda may have just left this magic behind by accident.”

   “Davos,” she whimpered.

   “No. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. I’ll be that generous. Maybe she’s telling the truth and maybe she’s able to bring him back. But what if he comes back as a changed man? A darker person. You know how powerful he was. If he turned against us, we would stand no chance. Is it worth the risk?”

   “I...I couldn’t live with myself if there was a chance and I didn’t take it.”

   “Okay. More importantly, do you trust her?” They both looked at Melisandre, who was facing the ground. Jorah was standing there, watching this all play out. Daenerys tentatively nodded her head.

   “Bruda did. That’s good enough for me.” She continued to look at him as he stared at her. He eventually relented, handing her the dragon. “Thank you, Ser Davos.” He said nothing, taking a step back. Daenerys passed the figurine to Melisandre who gave her a small smile. She turned to the ground in front of them, where the other objects were already arranged in the snow. She knelt down and placed the dragon to complete the pattern, each object making up one point of a diamond shape. Melisandre took a nervous step back, looking at the others.

   “Are you ready?” she asked.

   “How does this process work?” Jorah asked, speaking for the first time in a while.

   “I’ve got to do what he said. Believe in my own powers and capabilities.” She stepped closer to the diamond but didn't go into it. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, holding her hands up so her palms were facing in the direction of the objects. The others stood and watched. For the first few moments, nothing happened. But then, suddenly, Melisandre’s hands began to glow the familiar golden colour that signified Bruda’s magic. They grew brighter until wisps of energy were flowing around her fingers. They darted to the objects, connecting her to them. The golden energy began to surround them on the ground. The wind around them picked up, blowing their hair about even more. The snow that was covering the wet grass became wild, an excited energy building up. Melisandre continued to focus. Her hands trembled under the pressure. The air was electrified, sparks coming out of nowhere. Then golden lines grew from each object and connected to each one, forming an intricate design within the diamond. The energy became focused there, the wind and snow seemingly being drawn into. It all coalesced into a crazed swirl of golden and white energy, spinning around viciously right in front of the red priestess. It built and built, growing in size. The others had to shield their eyes from the brightness but it didn't last long as it soon broke apart, sending an impulse of energy shooting out in all directions. It passed through all of them, giving them a warm feeling inside. The wind stopped, the snow fell to the ground, and Melisandre brought her hands down. The golden light slowly faded and they looked eagerly to where the objects had been. They were no longer there. The diamond had vanished, leaving burn marks on the ground. A figure was standing there, motionless. 

   Bruda. Daenerys covered her mouth in shock. Melisandre wore a surprised expression even though she had been the one to do it. Davos and Jorah shared a worried look. Bruda’s eyes were closed as he stood there. Daenerys noted that he looked almost...younger. It was definitely him. Still the same wrinkles and crazy hair and beard. But he seemed healthier, a contentedness washed over his face. His old cloak, patched up in so many places, was now gone, replaced by a newer, brown version. His staff was somehow in his right hand, a blew glow gently coalescing around the tip. They all stared at him, waiting for something to happen.

   He opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The resurrection scene was based, ironically, on the song 'A Dazzling End' by Murray Gold


	39. Changes and Ravens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys wonders whether they made the right choice as more truths come out

The four of them stood in shock as they looked at the recognisable man. Bruda’s eyes darted around as he got a bearing of his surroundings. He then proceeded to crack his back loudly, bellowing out a satisfactory shout. He moved his arms about wildly as if he was getting the feeling to return to them. He quickly brought his hands to his beard, running them through the grey hairs as he let out a relieved breath. He did the same with his hair, pulling it down so he could see a strand. He let out a bark of laughter and did a little jig in excitement. 

   “Just what the doctor ordered!” he shouted with glee, stepping out of the slowly fading diamond. He stretched his arms out and noticed the different cloak that he was wearing. He observed it carefully. “Oh! Look at this! A new one! I don’t like it. Or do I? It’s hard to tell at the moment. Thoughts are all over the place. Or is that just normally the case? Who knows? And isn’t that just great?” He looked at the group of people who were watching him cautiously. “I knew you lot would figure it out!” He turned to the closest person, who was Melisandre. “You were amazing!” exclaimed before he took her face in his hands and gave her a deep and lingering kiss which took her by surprise judging from her wide eyes. He then pointed at Daenerys, walking up to her. “Brilliant! You were just brilliant!” He repeated the action, surprising her even more although she wasn’t one to complain. Finally, he focused on Jorah and Davos. “Ah, my two boys! Excellent as always chaps.” He hesitated for a brief moment. “Ah what the hell! You only live once!” Before they could react, he’d planted quick kisses on both their lips, leaving them standing there with startled expressions. Standing between them, he whispered quietly. “Do you get it? That was a joke. Because I...came back? No? Not the time?” He twirled around. He was moving about quickly due to the amount of built up energy in his body. Daenerys needed to calm him down. “Well then, not a moment to lose! I need a word with Bran.” His voice went darker at the mention of the Three-Eyed Raven and he began to walk off, heading towards Winterfell.

   “Bruda!” Daenerys shouted, the first words they had all said since his return. He stopped in his tracks and turned around, his cloak billowing around him. She slowly walked up to him, scared that if she got too close, the dream would end and he would be gone again.

   “Yes, dear?” he asked with a gentle smile, looking down at her. “I told you I would come back to you.” She tentatively reached a hand out towards him, looking at him carefully. And slapped him hard, not for the first time in their relationship. His eyes went wide as he stepped back in shock, sputtering incoherent words as he processed what had just happened. 

   “You died!” she shouted. “And you knew it was going to happen! Yet didn't think to divulge that information to me. Just another secret you kept from me.” That stung Bruda and he looked down at the ground. The others were letting Daenerys get this off her chest. 

   “It had to be that way. If I told anyone and they died...we knew that the Wights could transfer thoughts from the host person. The Night King could have found out and put all of his might into stopping me. Then we’d either still be fighting or dead already.”

   “I just feel that you don’t trust me at times. You’ve lived such a secluded life and now you have people close to you. You don’t have to keep things to yourself anymore.”

   “Of course I trust you,” he said, his voice deep. He took her face in one hand. “I trusted you enough to help me finish my plan.” She stared into his eyes.

   “Is it really you?” she whispered. “You’re still the same Bruda I knew?”

   “The one and only,” he replied quietly. She smiled for the first time at him and enveloped him in a tight hug. Once she released him, he turned back to the others. “Now then. Jorah, your sword. I’m sorry. It’s gone. My staff incorporated it back. You’ll just have to use your old one. No dead creatures to fight anymore so no need for Valyrian steel anyway.” Jorah was still shell shocked from the kiss so just nodded his head slowly. “But Davos.” He reached into his pocket, a golden glow coming from it before he produced the wooden dragon. “Make sure this gets back to Shireen safely.”

   “I...will do,” he stammered.

   “And, finally - Melisandre. My favourite woman with red hair.” He winked at her as he walked towards her. “As a gift, for being so amazing…” A necklace appeared in his hand in a swirl of golden energy. “This should anchor your magic from now on. No reliance on the Lord of Light anymore. I’d say you’re free but you’re still stuck with me.”

   “I think I can manage with that,” she replied with a smile. He placed the necklace around her neck before planting a soft kiss on her cheek. “You’re not heavy are you?” She looked at him perplexed for a moment before her eyes lost focus and she collapsed to the ground, Bruda catching her just before she reached it.

   “What happened? What did you do?” Jorah asked in alarm.

   “Magical exhaustion. Finally caught up to her. She’s never had to bring someone like me back before. She’ll sleep it off. Davos, if you would be so kind, would you take our dear friend to her bed chamber so she can rest?” The man in question nodded his head and moved over to the unconscious body. Bruda’s expression darkened. “Now I need to see Bran.”

   “Why are you so focused on him?” Daenerys asked.

   “Because he’s lied to us. And he has gotten away with a lot of things in his life it seems. Maybe I have changed. Because I don’t feel like being my usual merciful self.”

**********

   Bruda charged along the corridor at an alarming speed, Daenerys and Jorah trying their best to keep up with the old man. His face was like thunder, an angry scowl etched deep in his face. The exuberance that had filled him after his resurrection had been focused into this fury. He was the only one who knew what Bran had done and what his actions had caused. He felt like a fool for not seeing it earlier. It had taken a meeting with the devil himself for him to figure it out. Maybe he’d grown too old or maybe he’d just started trying to see the best in people. But Bran wasn’t a person anymore; that had been his main mistake. Daenerys was very concerned - this was a side to Bruda that she had rarely seen. He had been angry before, that was certain. She remembered his ire being focused on Bran before in one of their meetings. What had the young Stark done to cause a reaction as extreme as this? 

   “Where is he?” the warlock shouted to no one in particular, getting annoyed that the rooms he had checked in, without asking, weren’t the one he was looking for. Daenerys had had enough. She was going to be queen and she would not allow anyone to direct her, even Bruda.

   “Will you stop?” she asked in a loud voice. He quickly turned around to face her, stepping towards her. He stood inches away from her, towering over her diminutive form.

   “Why?” he barked. “I’ve recently been through something that has changed my perspective on life. It can be short. There is simply no time to wait whilst we plan our next course of action when we can get on with it. Is that okay with you?” He then stopped, truly looking at her, the anger fading momentarily. She looked...frightened. His breath caught and he took a step back. He flexed his fingers as he looked at his hands in contemplation. “Is this what I’ve become? Is this what I am now? You live so long and anger at the injustices of the world can consume you. Lived too long.” He sighed, sending a hand slowly down his face in tiredness as he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry Daenerys. I shouldn’t have spoken like that to you. I’m keeping things from you again and I know you don’t want that. Understandably so. But I’ll tell you in a few minutes. Do you trust me?” He reached out to her but she flinched away, causing him to stop. It had been an involuntary reaction on her part but it spoke volumes. Tears filled his eyes as he nodded his head, turning away and carrying on in his pursuit.

   “I...I just don’t think I know who you are anymore Bruda,” she said. “I know you’re you but…” She let the silence hang for a moment as he stopped again.

   “I understand,” he replied quietly. The commotion though had got the attention of some of the other people in the castle. Jon was the first to arrive to the scene and his eyes went wide as he saw the warlock leaning on the wall.

   “Bruda?” he stammered, taken aback. “They...they said you died.”

   “I did. Well...kind of. I was dead. But then I wasn’t. Obviously. Because I’m standing in front of you right now and currently having a conversation with you. It’s...complicated.” His voice, although his words followed the usual exuberance of his mannerisms, sounded dejected and it hurt Daenerys to hear the sorrow she had caused. Jon just slowly nodded his head, accepting that explanation as so many strange things had happened concerning the warlock.

   “But that doesn’t explain the shouting,” he said. Bruda looked away, the previous energy sapped from him. Daenerys was even less willing to speak at the moment so it was up to Jorah to talk.

   “Do you know where your brother is?” he asked.

   “He’ll be in his room, I suppose. Is there a reason why you’re looking for him? What’s he done?”

   “I don’t actually know yet. Bruda seems to have found something out.” They both looked at the warlock. 

   “Can you tell me which way his room is?” he asked impatiently.

   “Not until you tell us what is going on.” Bruda bit his lip, visibly annoyed at the needless delay. He caught Daenerys’ eye who was looking at him sadly. Again, he sighed.

   “You’re not going to like this,” he began. “You’ve got to remember that he is no longer the boy you knew, Snow. The Three-Eyed Raven is not a person.”

   “Quit the bullshit and tell me what he’s done.” They all had wide eyes at his word choice.

   “Don’t speak to him like that,” Daenerys said. Jon maintained eye contact with her before dropping his head in submission. Bruda inclined his head in her direction. He still deserved respect. 

   “He’s just concerned, which is understandable. I have reason to believe that he was the cause of the Night King targeting us.”

   “Well that isn’t exactly breaking news. He always said this to us.”

   “He didn’t tell us that he was going to help him, though.” That took the others by surprise.

   “What?” Jon exclaimed. “No. He wouldn’t...he’s barely a man!”

   “Did you not listen to a word I just said?” Bruda asked with annoyance. “He is not that boy anymore. I don’t think he has been for a very long time. He has been playing us. Quite well, I must admit.”

   “No...you have to be making this up.”

   “If you don’t believe him,” Jorah inputted, “why don’t you take us to his room and we can figure this all out?” Jon hesitated for a moment, still reeling from Bruda’s revelation. But then he marched away, Jorah quickly following behind him. The warlock was about to do the same when he felt a small hand on his arm stopping him. He turned around and saw Daenerys looking at him.

   “Thank you for telling us,” she said with real sincerity. 

   “It’s the least I could do. But there’s still more to know.” He said this without his trademark smirk which left Daenerys feeling empty inside. Bruda turned and walked away, leaving her standing there as she collected her thoughts before she started pursuing them.

**********

   Missandei practically skipped through the hallway after receiving the best of news. The only difficulty was finding the room because this old building was still a maze to her. It had been a fairly simple journey to get to the castle further south. Tyrion had said it was called Fort Taylen, an abandoned stronghold of a small Northern family that had been absolved and incorporated into another of the families around here at least a century ago. She doubted that it would classify as a castle nowadays since it was so small and in quite a state of disrepair. It was more like a collection of reasonably sized stone cottages. But all that mattered was that it could house the large number of people that had traveled with them. Most of them women and children, who she had gotten on well with. Yet she had made sure to stay close to Tyrion and Varys as she had been instructed. They had a better understanding of Westeros so would help her with any difficulties she had, something which had cropped up a few times already. Tyrion had been forced to intervene when she tried helping a lost wildling girl when the mother had come thundering over, hurling insults at her. She had stayed in her room for the rest of the evening until the dwarf had arrived at her door with a dusty bottle of wine.

   Now it was her turn to arrive at his door. She knocked on politely, waiting for him to bid her entry. She had learnt from past mistakes. One time, after she had grown fairly settled with the two of them, she had entered his room without alerting him of her presence. She had never seen as red a face as his when she caught him walking drunkenly around with no pants on. It brought a smile to her face just thinking about it, even if she knew she shouldn’t. This time, when she walked into the room, Tyrion was fully clothed and was accompanied by Varys. They were sat on two dusty old sofas, which, before they had arrived, she would never have expected either of them to touch with a large stick. They had both changed in a sense, so removed from their past luxuries. Yet they still had to have wine as if it was the most important commodity. Tyrion had vehemently argued that this was the case; they had debated the topic long into the night whilst drinking the aforementioned nectar. 

   Tyrion was the first to acknowledge her presence, probably because he was closer to her than the Spider was. He quirked an eyebrow at her positive demeanour. He saw two letters in her hand, one already opened and wondered what she had learnt. He hated not knowing things and hoped she wouldn’t lord it over him. She seemed to relish the times when she could stump him. He took it as a compliment.

   “I’m sure you’re going to spit out any news you have,” he said in greeting. “You look like you’re about to explode if you wait any longer.” He was surprised that she told them straight away. It was obviously important.

   “The war is won,” she told them with no messing about. They both sat up in surprise, sharing a quick look with each other. Tyrion stood up abruptly and walked over to her, reaching for the opened letter in her hand.

   “What does it say?” he asked feverently.

   “It comes directly from Mhysa. She writes that it was a gruelling battle with many casualties. Never a horror she has seen as ungodly than the White Walkers. But it was worth it as the enemy was defeated.”

   “Does she go into detail about how they defeated the Night King?” Varys asked, although his sombre tone suggested he already knew. Missandei’s smile faded as she looked at the portion of the letter that was stained with tears.

   “She talks of the greatest of sacrifices on the part of Warlock Bruda. He didn't make it.” They shared a silent moment, remembering the old man. He had always treated her as if she was just a normal person, which she adored. Many people viewed her as a different entity but he didn't. He spoke to her just as he did with anyone else. A rare characteristic in people, she had found.

   “He was as brave a man as any,” Tyrion said, lifting his glass into the air. “Probably even more so.” He glanced at Varys, which Missandei noted. She sent them a questioning look.

   “Bruda was fated to stand in the way of the Night King,” Varys explained. “I pieced it together just before we left Winterfell after I stumbled across an ancient collection of Northern family treaties. I say stumbled across...it was left on my desk one evening.”

   “Do you think he put it there?” Missandei asked curiously.

   “I wouldn’t put it past him. He probably wanted someone to know before the end. Secrets are a necessity of life but they don’t half burn a man’s soul.”

   “I dread to think what state yours is in then,” Tyrion quipped. Varys gave a mirthless laugh. The imp couldn’t tear his attention away from the unopened note for any longer. “You received two letters,” he pointed out to Missandei. She nodded and handed him it. It had his name neatly scrawled on it.

   “For you. Daenerys’ writing again. I presumed it would be a reiteration of what was said in my letter.” He took a small dagger from his pocket and sliced it open. They watched carefully as he read what was inside. All of a sudden, he thrust the dagger into the wooden table, startling Missandei, and let the paper drop to the floor. He went to the jug of wine and poured himself a fresh glass before downing it in one. “Tyrion,” she said tentatively, approaching him.

   “Bruda wasn’t the only one to die. Daenerys has taken the courtesy of telling me that Jaime perished too.” Missandei carefully placed a hand on his shoulder.

   “I truly am sorry, Tyrion,” Varys said earnestly. “Although I didn’t know him as well as others, I know he didn’t deserve such a horrid fate.”

   “He would have disagreed with you on that. He did some terrible things, as most of us have. He was beginning to accept that.”

   “He sounds like a good man,” Missandei said gently.

   “All that matters is that he was a good brother.” They let him have another drink, not wanting to disturb his initial mourning. 

   “We now need to decide what our next steps are,” Varys put forward.

   “We should be heading back,” Tyrion responded. “Daenerys knows that the misery isn’t over with. She’ll be beginning to think about how she approaches the next challenge. The undead are one thing but she’s never had to face my family before. We need to be there to advise her.”

   “What are you going to tell her to do?” Varys asked.

   “Whatever it takes to win the Throne. You know as well as I do that the capital is in turmoil. Tommen isn’t a leader, not yet. I’m hoping it won’t take a lot to oust him.”

   “It’s not about ousting him. It is about removing him permanently. You need to accept that. Tommen has been wounded since getting on the Throne. And the one and only thing wounded animals know to do is lash out.”

**********

   Jon didn't bother knocking on Bran’s door, he was that nervous of the accusations put forward. Bran showed no sign of surprise when he entered the room loudly, although he did raise his eyebrows slightly when Jorah and Daenerys stepped in. Yet the look of shock on his face when Bruda leant against the doorframe didn't resemble any emotion shown by him in the past few years. He gaped at the warlock, who he thought had thankfully been killed in the battle. Nothing else had gone right that evening. It was the reason he had been spending all of his time in here, trying to plan what he should do next. It was if his purpose was now obsolete. And that didn't sit well with him at all.

   “What?” Bruda asked in a sarcastic tone. “You don’t seem at all happy that I’m here. I’d take it as an insult if this was coming from anyone other than you.” Bran didn't know why he was speaking to him in such a way. He’d never trusted the old man. His powers had never been able to get a good grasp on him, which was unsettling. He could see so many fates being played out but it was blank when it came to Bruda.

   “I heard people talk of your death. I took it as the truth but it seems I was mistaken.”

   “I’m sure you’re really upset about that.”

   “I’m more intrigued about why you are all here.” Bruda walked fully into the room and knelt so he was at eye level with Bran. 

   “You disgust me, I hope you know that. All the people who died. Not just here but further North. They’re all dead because of you.”

   “Jon, can you do something? I don’t know what he is talking about.” Jon looked tentatively at the warlock and then back at his brother.

   “You need to tell us the truth,” he simply said. He had to keep reminding himself that this was no longer his brother.

   “About what?”

   “About how you were going to work with the Night King!” Bruda roared, standing up and pacing around the room. “We had a chat. Just before I killed him. Pretty one sided affair but one thing I found out was that the Three-Eyed Raven was not this figure with the capability to destroy the White Walkers. The original one hated the First Men just as much as the Children of the Forest and actually helped them create those monsters. A slightly different version of events you’ve told us. But, unlike the Children, he wasn’t as reluctant to see what they became. He thought they were the perfect weapon. Yet they disappeared. And he lost his one chance.

   He passed this information onto you with one goal. To help them. They killed the original because his powers were gone. Transfered over to you. You didn't know this when you first met him. But it settled on you.” They all stood in shock as they looked at the two people close together. When he said it like that, it did make sense. But he had no definitive proof. For all they knew, he could have been making this all up. 

   “It’s a nice story that you’ve spun,” Bran eventually said. “But it’s all a lie.” Bruda laughed.

   “You sit there, thinking your safe, You’re thinking there is no way I can show this to be the case. Do you want to know how he died?” They all looked intrigued. “Pure magic. Mainly because my staff and the dragonglass he was created with were connected. And since the Three-Eyed Raven created the Night King, that connection will still be there, be it slightly weaker.” He turned to Daenerys. “Would you mind giving me your hand?” She shared a look with Jorah before stepping closer to the warlock. He smiled gently at her before he waved his hand over hers. Golden energy erupted from his fingertips but she couldn’t feel anything apart from a slight tickle. He did the same with Jorah and then Jon before turning to Bran. He was reluctant to give his arm, which was his first giveaway. He tried moving away but Bruda put his staff in between the spokes in the wheels of his chair to stop him. As he passed his hand over the arm of Bran, the young boy gritted his teeth in pain and they all could see a black pattern emerge on his skin. It matched the engraving on the Wall and the patterns Jon had seen past it. He eyed Bran carefully who dropped the facade and smirked. The Raven turned back to the warlock. The old man glared at him.

   “I have met so many people in my life. I have had to face so many evil beings in my time. I hope you realise that, despite all you have done, you don’t compare to any of them. You hide in the shadows to protect yourself and do nothing more than direct people with hints so they do your bidding. You are scum and I am going to enjoy watching you suffer.” Again, it was a side to Bruda Daenerys had rarely seen. He got up from his kneeling position and stepped to the other three.

   “I’m sorry Jon. I didn't want you to find out like this.”

   “I don’t care. He’s not my brother, just like you said.” 

   “Daenerys, you need to decide what we do. Execution is obviously the main choice but, even if he’s renounced all claims to Winterfell, he is still seen as a Stark. It would be risky because the Northern families could turn against you if he dies.” She glared at Bran, hatred boiling inside of her. She thought back to the side of Ser Barristan Selmy dead on the pyre. She felt the emotions well up from when she thought Bruda had left her.

   “I can not rule a kingdom in which he still gets to live. They will come to understand the horrific monster he truly was. If not, I have enough men to cope without them. It would be Stannis who suffers the most, which I’m fine with. I want to see him burn.”

   They led him through the courtyard against the backdrop of the darkness of the night. Not many people were around, which was a blessing. What unnerved them was that Bran didn't put up a fight. He didn't complain or try and plead his innocence. He just allowed himself to be pushed to his doom. Bruda wouldn’t be happy until he was confirmed to be dead.

   “Where are you going?” a recognisable voice asked through the quiet. Davos emerged from inside the castle after seeing them all walking through the snow. He was confused when he saw Bran and their angry expressions.

   “To fulfil my duty as queen,” Daenerys answered vaguely. He raised an eyebrow at Jorah, who explained what was going on as they continued to walk. To say that he was as furious as the others when all was said to him was an understatement. Daenerys eventually stopped them just outside the walls of Winterfell. She closed her eyes for a moment and, soon, they could hear the flap of wings. Drogon landed with a heavy thud, snarling at them all as he bared his teeth. They set Bran apart from themselves. He continued to stay where he was with an impassive expression. “Bran Stark,” she began. “You are tried with counts of treason, not only to your queen, but also to the kingdom as a whole. Your actions nearly condemned us all to eternal darkness and, for that, your fate has been sealed as I can only see fit that you pay with your life.” She was about to say Dracarys when Bran’s eyes fogged over. They looked on in alarm as they tried to figure out what he was doing. Drogon roared out, shaking his head. Bruda’s heart sank. The dragon turned its head towards them, his eyes the same pale colour as Bran’s were. Daenerys looked on in fear as she worried for her child. He roared again, flames beginning to billow around his mouth. 

   “Behind me!” Bruda shouted to them all as he gripped his staff, raising it in the air as he prepared himself. Another roar and flames came surging out of Drogon’s mouth. A blue shimmering dome appeared, repelling the flames as Bruda gritted his teeth. The others stood behind him, feeling the heat regardless of his intervention. He got a break as Drogon stopped for a moment but had to bat away another barrage of flames with a wave of his hands. The fire turned away, firing straight at the stone wall causing it to collapse in places. “You need to get out of here!” he ordered whilst ricocheting another stream of blazing heat. Jorah drew his sword, ignoring Daenerys’ concerned look. 

   “Can you distract it?” he asked the warlock. Bruda looked at him and noticed the sword drawn. He nodded his head.

   “You lot need to get away though.” Davos took Daenerys’ arm and led her behind the wall, Jon following behind them as he protected her from behind. Bruda and Jorah shared a look before the older man shot a ball of blue energy at Drogon. He moved away from the knight, waving his arms wildly. “Come on, you great big beast! Look at me!” The dragon turned his head and attention towards Bruda, shifting his body away from where it was protecting Bran. With the boy warging, he could not see the knight running towards him. Jorah managed to dodge the swinging tail of Drogon as he approached Bran. As soon as he got there, he plunged his sword deep into his stomach. It broke the connection between boy and beast, Drogon shaking his head again as the effects wore off. Bruda gave a large sigh as his shoulders dropped. He caught the look of Daenerys who was coming from behind the wall but it was the last thing he saw as his vision went blurry.


	40. Acceptance and Scorpions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys struggles with her concerns about Bruda while Tommen focuses on defense

Daenerys and Jorah sat on the tired old sofa in her room, contemplating what had happened the night before. Bran Stark, the Three-Eyed Raven, had been killed by the knight. Bruda had managed to hold the dragon off until he was free of the control of the warg, saving them all in the process. Yet, after just coming back from the dead, the strain it had put on his magical energy had drained him. He was taken to the same room Melisandre was in to sleep the effects off. They had no idea how long it would take - Daenerys hoped it would be sooner rather than later since she felt she needed a proper conversation with the warlock. But that had to wait. The commotion the events had caused, particularly the damage to the castle’s structure, had been noticed by a large group of people and she had been forced to explain what had happened to Stannis. At first, he was irate that something so momentous had happened on his territory and worried about the political implications the death of a Stark would have for them all. However, to her surprise, he had actually thanked her for their intervention, stating that, if it wasn’t for her council, either Winterfell probably wouldn’t be standing and many people would have died or they would have continued to live amongst a traitor. He told her how dangerous that could be for a hopeful ruler. It had been an almost positive encounter between the two of them and it added even more questions that needed to be answered to the thoughts already swirling around her head.

   “So you’re now thinking that an alliance with Stannis is possible?” Jorah asked skeptically. She didn't appreciate his doubtful tone.

   “He seemed...different. I can’t base my next plans on one conversation. But it would give us a better chance of victory if we were to fight together.”

   “We all appreciate that, khaleesi. But you have to think about what happens after the war is won. You know that Stannis won’t settle for second best. He has been working far too hard and far too long to let it go when he has it in his grasp.”

   “We need to be having more frank discussions with him in the near future to try and settle this. But only once Tyrion and Varys are back. They have the best understanding of the political structures here.”

   “They’re travelling back here as we speak. Word reached us this morning. It’s just been a hectic time that this was the only chance I have had to tell you.”

   “It’ll be good to see them again. It fears like we haven’t seen them in ages when, in actual fact, it’s been just over a week.”

   “We have been through quite a lot,” he said with a small chuckle. Daenerys smiled at him, enjoying seeing him in this relaxed position. It was very rare that he let his guard down this much, even when they were alone. It was infuriating at times, especially when she wanted him to rip her clothes off just because he could. He wasn’t that sort of person. He respected her too greatly. She loved him for it. She just felt that she didn't show it enough. Daenerys lent her head on his shoulder, surprising him. He looked at her with wide eyes, although she couldn’t see them. He was nervous now; she was never this affectionate. Something must have been troubling her. He had a rough idea of what or, more to the point, who it was. 

   “You’ve been thinking about Bruda as well,” he remarked. She looked up at him with a startled expression. He knew her far too well at times.

   “As if I’d have the capability not to.”

   “You need to give him the benefit of the doubt,” Jorah put forward. Daenerys stood up from the sofa and started pacing around the room.

   “He’s a changed man. You saw as well as I how...angry he was. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t the man I knew.”

   “You have to remember that you haven’t known him for as long as you think. Take into account how long his life has been - the time he has known you is a fraction of that. Which means this may just be a side to his character you haven’t seen before. It doesn’t mean he is a different man.”

   “I just don’t know whether I like this side of his character then. If I’m to rule, I can’t afford having someone like that by my side.”

   “Who are you trying to convince? Yourself? Because you’re doing a poor job at swaying me.” He was standing up now, close to her. She hated how his face looked so disappointed. “He is the same man as he was. The sooner you realise that, the better.”

   “How can you be so sure? He lied to us about his true identity!”

   “Because he cares about you!” he shouted. That took her aback. He’d very rarely raised his voice at her before. “You’d have to be blind not to see it.”

   “How do you know this? His feelings might have changed after...what happened.”

   “He protected you last night. He risked his life for us but mainly for you. That tells me he will defend you until the very end and that’s all I care about.”

   “You risked your life as well,” she pointed out. He smiled sadly at her.

   “Because I love you. It is my duty to protect you at all costs. Even when I’m up against a fire-breathing dragon.” This was an opportunity to tease him. He rarely spoke so openly about his emotions.

   “As far as I recall, Bruda was the one to take on the fire-breathing dragon. You fought a boy in a wheelchair.” His mouth hung open in shock at her words before he started to laugh. She patted his cheek. “You were still my brave knight,” she said softly.

   “Do you understand what I’m saying then. If I took a risk just to kill a boy...he fought a dragon for you. Part of that will have been for his ego just so he can say he’s done it now.” She laughed at his comment. “But, like the rest of us, he believes in you. Remember that.”

   “I should go and talk to him.” He nodded his head.

   “Not just now though. He’ll be asleep hopefully. Your presence would just make him want to get up. You should have seen what state he was in the last time we forced him into bed rest.”

   “So I’ve got time to spare. What...to...do.” She accentuated each pause with a finger going up his chest. Only a stronger man would have been able to resist the devilish smirk she was sending him. Bruda could definitely wait.

   ***********

   Stannis paced his room, a scowl on his face while he was deep in thought. That Targaryen girl was far too powerful for his liking and the worst part was that she had barely an inkling about the control she had over so many people. What infuriated him even more was that she seemed a genuinely...pleasant young woman, which would naturally attract devoted followers to her cause. He didn't have that on his sword. He earnt the loyalty of men through being a tough leader and a smart military general. All she had to do was smile. Or then show off her beasts, making any sane man cower before her. It made his next plans even more difficult because he was struggling to figure out who this makeshift alliance would play out. She wanted to be queen. He wanted to be king. And yet they found themselves working together. It didn't make any sense. But did he have the power to topple her? Would her people follow him if she were to die. He had contemplated doing that. He’d had her in his grasp, finally away from the overbearing shadow of her councillors. He’d let her go away. That had been his chance. He needed her if he was to take the Throne just as much as she needed him for exactly the same reason. It was a baffling conundrum.

   Could he settle for something less than the throne? That idea had manifested itself in his head quite often. He could let her take it, stay in her good books and rule over a powerful stronghold. It wouldn’t be the worst ending, he guessed. But he had been striving for the pinnacle position for years. He didn't want to lose it, or even worse give it up, to some girl. But then how would he get rid of her? She wouldn’t take anything less. She didn't have to. She had three (or was it now four?) dragons at her side, an army consisting of Unsullied soldiers, seen as the best in the known world, and brutish savages, a loyal group of advisors, and obviously that warlock. He’d heard mutterings around the castle grounds that he had somehow survived the battle after he was thought to be dead and was now in a bed somewhere recuperating from his gallant endeavours. When Stannis had found out that this was indeed true, he’d thrown quite a few books down to the floor or at the wall. She’d been momentarily weakened and now that hope had died.

   He was considering all this when he reminded himself that he didn't need to settle for anything less than throne as well. He had a strong contingent of men, which included allies from families loyal to the Baratheon name. They didn't see Tommen as a Baratheon anymore since he’d been influenced so much by the Lannister family, especially his mother. He also had to remember that, as far as the common people were concerned, he was the known entity in this equation. If they were to back anyone to overthrow the king, it would be him since they had no idea who Daenerys was and would base any assumptions on how the last Targaryen reign had ended. Two parts of his brain were fighting each other - the one that contained the lust for power and the one that harboured the instinct of survival

   What he needed in a situation like this was a council of his own yet his two advisors had been strangely absent of late. Melisandre was in a similar position to the warlock, unconscious on a bed somewhere. He didn't know exactly where she was or why she was in this situation. He hadn’t bothered to find the answers to these questions or check up on her because he had more important things to think about. This was also after she had betrayed him, telling him lies about his destiny. He wondered how often she had been untruthful to him over the years. She was, in his eyes, now expendable to him. What concerned him the most was that she had been able to fight off his attack but not with her own magic. A short while after it had happened, he had realised that whatever force it had been, it resembled the power of that warlock. He’d known then that she was in league with him and that meant she was becoming close to the Targaryen girl. And he’d attacked her. He dreaded to think what would happen if she woke up and told them what had happened. Maybe he’d have to find out where she was after all.

   His other advisor, Davos Seaworth, had been even more absent from his duties. As his Hand, he expected him to be by his side most of the time. Yet, more often than not, he was not to be found and if he was, he was always with  _ them _ . The way he spoke to them again caused worry to build up inside him. Even Stannis could see that he was loyal to them now. In normal circumstances, he would have had Davos executed for his crimes against him but it always came back to the girl. If he killed Seaworth, he’d face the might of her power. The instinct to survive was winning over his usually callous mind. It was swaying between both sides of the argument, leaving him confused when he was so often calm in thought and decision-making. He felt alone. She had so many people by her side and now he had none. He was isolated. This was not what it was supposed to be like. He had been promised that this campaign would be a successful one for him. Maybe that meant something else than the throne. Was it time to embrace this alliance so he wouldn’t meet an unfortunate fate. He’d always seen things taken from him. He now knew how to ensure he at least got something he wanted. And he knew he had to stay in the good graces of Daenerys Targaryen.

**********

   Bruda was sat up in bed and reading a book, spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to enjoy a good story. His imprisonment, which is what he viewed this as, was as good an opportunity as ever. His new cloak, the one he still had mixed feelings about, lay at the foot of the bed, leaving him clad in a plain white shirt with the sleeves partly rolled up. He briefly looked over to the other bed by his side as he did quite often, checking up on Melisandre. He was getting slightly concerned that she hadn’t woken up but he guessed she was not used to the extent of his magical capability. At least she seemed peaceful for a change. He could tell there was always something worrying her, usually down to that damned Lord she used to follow. He hoped he had helped with that. He realised that he had been looking too long and, with the fear that she would wake up in that moment and catch him staring, he averted his gaze back to the lines on the page.

   He’d gotten through another two pages when his attention was brought to the door opening, letting an icy chill momentarily overpower the small fire that was burning. He’d been expecting her to show up at some point. Before she looked at him, her back to him as she closed the door, he focused again on the book, acting as if he hadn’t noticed her. When Daenerys turned around, she was surprised to see Bruda awake. She had been expecting it for some reason, though. He was stubborn enough to not follow Jorah and Davos’ orders of sleeping properly to get back all of his energy. She wanted to roll her eyes at him but felt this awkwardness towards him, mainly because of their last interaction. She knew she had hurt him deeply. She needed to remind herself that this was her warlock still. She walked further into the room, passing Melisandre’s bed before burching on the side of his bed, moving his cloak out of the way.

   “You should be asleep,” she said in greeting, a small smile on her face to reassure him that she was trying to overcome her worries. He looked over his glasses to observe her. The first thing he noticed was that her hair was out of place. That was something to definitely comment on. 

   “Did Mormont tell you to say that?” he asked, returning her smile, which comforted her greatly. “I’m a grown man. I can tell when I’m able to get up and about. But I’m under surveillance every five minutes, checking that I’m still lying down. You need to help me get out of here. I’m sure I could hide under your dress if I tried hard enough.” He sent a wink at her and she had the good grace to look scandalised, hitting the duvet where his legs were.

   “You just want to see under my clothes!” she exclaimed. She enjoyed how they could talk like this. Harmless conversations. It was a work in progress with Jorah.

   “Can you blame me?” She hit him again, trying to give him a stern look.

   “Anyone else saying such a thing would be facing a trip to the cells.” He waved a dismissive hand.

   “You’ve already tried that tactic before and it didn’t work.” The fact that he was bringing up the past made her hope that he was the same man.

   “I wouldn’t betray Jorah just so you can have a walk about.” He grinned at her.

   “Oh I can tell that. I think I have an idea on how he keeps you sweet. I expected you to be here at least an hour ago,” he said pointedly. She felt a blush rise up her neck. She squinted her eyes at him. 

   “How can you tell?”

   “So you have been up to no good!” he said with a bark of laughter. She rolled her eyes at him.

   “Answer the question.”

   “Your hair. It’s a bit...off. I can’t explain it. It’s just different.” She sat there for a moment in stunned silence, her hand instinctively reaching up to her hair.. He had noticed a miniscule change in it. She doubted whether even Jorah would have noticed. But Bruda did. She realised that he was still that same man who cared for her. Jorah had been right after all.

   “I can’t divulge any information to a scoundrel like you.” She felt more comfortable with him now.

   “A scoundrel, hey? I’ve been called worse. Mainly by you.” He sent her another smile, finally putting his book down on the table by his bed. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill your humiliating secret that you are in deep love with the old sod.” Another whack. “But only if you help me get out of here.”

   “Bruda, you are an old man who needs rest. The sooner you accept this the better.” He put on an expression of indignation.

   “I’m old! How very dare you? I should get back at you somehow. Turn you into an old hag.”

   “I’d like to see you try,” she responded whilst arching an eyebrow. 

   “Or maybe not. I hate to admit that you do often terrify me.” She felt a quiet pride at that.

   “It seems you have some sense left in you. Even after fighting a dragon.” His smile dropped, remembering their conversation.

   “Anything for you, your Grace,” he replied quietly.

   “I wanted to apologise for the way I treated you. I should have known that you couldn’t possibly be anyone other than my warlock.”

   “No. I’d rather you be paranoid. The position you’re in...you have to be cautious. And anything could happen when magic is involved. Just remember that I’m at your side. If you ever need me.”

   “I always do. I was just concerned. I didn't want you to change.”

   “I should have bestowed all the treasures in the world on you for all the times you helped me. But the greatest gift of all is that you now get to travel the stars as the most impossible story in history. That’s what you said to me the night I died. Whispered in my ear just before I vanished in front of your very eyes.” She felt tears sting her eyes as she remembered that evening and those exact words coming out of her mouth. If he knew that, when no one else could have possibly known, it meant one thing.

   “It really is you.”

   “You wouldn’t be able to go on without this old man by your side.” She knew that was the truth and took a few moments to compose herself. He smiled at her before looking back at the prone figure of Melisandre, giving Daenerys the time she needed. She arched an eyebrow at him. “So you and her…” she began tentatively, still wiping away a few tears.. He snapped out of his concentration, sending a questioning glance at Daenerys.

   “Yes?” He wanted to watch her squirm.

   “Are you two...together?”

   “Are you jealous?” he asked with a teasing smile. He raised his eyebrows at her silence as she felt another blush grow on her cheeks.

   “It’s just...you look like you care about her.”

   “I care about you too. I may be a miserable bugger but I still have a heart. She’s helped me...now it’s my turn.”

   “You’ve already protected her.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “She mentioned that the necklace you gave her stopped Stannis…” She could see his hands gripping the sheets tightly even though she hadn’t gone into detail about what exactly had happened.

   “The magic knew I needed her so I could come back. It was protecting itself as much as her.”

   “So you wouldn’t have guarded her from an attack like a dashing hero if you were actually there?” she asked teasingly.

   “Ah, Daenerys Targaryen. You should have realised by now that I’m no hero. If I’d been there, Stannis would not be alive today.”

   **********

   Tommen was mainly paranoid about the prospect of a large attack from the two great houses because he knew it would be like no other uprising. If an army were to form against him and see it fit to strike the capital, they would do well to reach a hundred feet of the city parameter walls. But Daenerys Targaryen could easily fly over those very defences, bypassing all of the men he had at his disposal. That was why he had been planning. For a few months, since the news broke that an alliance had been formed in the North, he had entrusted the Grand Maester to fashion a weapon for him. Pycelle had barely done anything on it before he disappeared for reasons that were still unknown to him so his replacement, Qyburn, had been instructed to make fast progress. And he had done just that. All that Tommen knew was that he had been working in tandem with Euron Greyjoy, the head of the royal armada that guarded the waters surrounding them. This was because Qyburn was hoping to create a machine that would fit onto several ships, which would give them a better chance of being useful. It was now the day the king would get to see their invention.

   He had been told to walk down to the dungeons. He was doing this on his own because, although he had been boasting about his genius to do this to his council, he wanted to be the first to see it. It would be no good for his advisors to see a failed job. He’d sent that message to Qyburn, just to motivate him even more to get it to work. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so deep in the Red Keep. With each step, it seemed to get darker, the flaming torches beginning to struggle to combat the encroaching darkness and the walls were soon covered in cobwebs. He wanted to know who was responsible for the upkeep of the castle. He didn't want poor levels of work to be seen in his castle. People had to look at this building as the seat of power, to show how powerful he was. 

   Qyburn was standing in the dungeons were the skulls of long dead dragons decorated the floor. Some signified beasts the size no one had ever seen in this part of the kingdom for centuries. The others were the size of cats that wandered around the stone hallways. Euron was grinning madly as Tommen approached, leaning on a large wooden contraption that immediately occupied the young man’s attention. He dramatically bowed, which Tommen ignored. The maester stepped towards him, bending a knee and kissing the top of the outstretched hand of the king. This was how he should be treated. Yet fewer people seemed to be doing, which annoyed him greatly.

   “Your highness,” Qyburn began. He was a slender figure, his greasy, slicked back hair reaching down to his shoulders. Many people in the Keep spoke of how they didn't trust the new maester. They talked about how he attempted strange experiments, which is why he was removed from the Citadel. Tommen didn't care. He wanted tasks completing and Qyburn was someone who did as he was told without asking any questions. That was another problem he faced on a daily basis. People, commoners more like, thought it was acceptable to question his decisions and orders. No king should have to stand for it. Once he had dealt with his immediate nuisance, he’d focus on removing this issue too. “I’m so honoured you have spared the time from your busy schedule to view what we have created.” Tommen refused to say that he had accomplished nothing that day. Kings weren’t expected to be busy every day, he reminded himself. 

   “I’ve given you plenty of time. I expect what you have done to meet my expectations.”

   “I serve only to create what you dream, your Grace.” Euron wanted to roll his eyes at the arse licking on show. It was a good job he got to shoot things with their new invention, otherwise he would have been very bored indeed. He started to grin as he thought about it. He then proceeded to pick his teeth with his longest fingernail. Tommen approached the contraption, stroking it gently with one of his hands. Qyburn was quickly by his side. 

   “It looks like a large crossbow,” Tommen remarked, a hint of derision in his voice.

   “That was the basis. But you spoke about our targets being much bigger...so we made this much bigger.” His eyes seemed to light up in excitement. He nodded his head at Euron, who sent him a questioning look before remembering what his task was. The Greyjoy man reached down and picked up a large metal spear in both hands, allowing Tommen to look at it. He then put it into the crossbow and set it up. “We call it the Scorpion. Although you can of course think of a new name yourself.”

   “No, no. I like it actually. It will strike fear into my opponents’ hearts.”

   “It can be turned at any angle so those beasts won’t be able to dodge it. And the force the spear is propelled at will mean it will reach speeds no animal can react to in time.”

   “So it will kill them?”

   “As if they were nothing more than a dog. The girl will not get past those walls whilst these are operational.”

   “And how many can we make?”

   “Well, depending on the size of the workforce, we could have one on every turret and a quarter of your ships in a fortnight.” That was excellent news. Daenerys Targaryen wouldn’t know what hit her. She’d have no clue they had such a weapon or even that a weapon like this could be created in the first place.

   “I want to see it in action.” Again, Qyburn nodded his head at Euron who hurried over to something covered by a sheet.

   “I thought you would say that.” Euron removed the cloth, unveiling a large skull of a dragon. He then scuttled over to the Scorpion and turned it so it was pointing at the bones. With a loud bang, it shot off, the spear piercing the skull in seconds. It took the front of it straight off and had buried itself deep into where the head would have been. Tommen smiled. It would work perfectly.


	41. Letters and Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys receives some surprising news as people return to Winterfell, which prompts her to put forward an important proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, please comment. It's been a while

Sunlight filtered through the small window, illuminating the clouds of dust that had settled over the course of the night. The beam of light focused itself on the face of Melisandre and her eyes began to twitch. She blinked a few times as she finally woke up, the brightness surprising her. She stretched her arms out and slowly steadied herself enough to sit up in bed, her head turning from side to side as she observed her new surroundings. She couldn’t remember a lot. Bruda was back, a thought that brought a large smile to her face. She had never expected it to work even if he had planned it all before he temporarily died. He had been a bundle of energy and she had been overjoyed just to see him again. But then her vision had gone blurry and it had all gone black. That was the last thing she remembered before this moment. She looked down and realised she was not in her customary red dress, instead clad in a soft, white bed dress. Her eyes fell onto her usual dress, which was folded neatly on the table by her bed. She wondered who had gotten her out of her clothes, a hopeful smirk as she thought about the warlock being the one to do so. She glanced at the other bed in the room and noticed that it had definitely been slept in, the sheets folded over clumsily after someone got out. Her eyes then fell upon the cloak on a chair by the side of it and her thoughts turned to Bruda again, worrying about the reasons why he would have had to have been in here too. He was obviously alright now, which calmed her down slightly.

   She was about to get out of bed when the door opened and Bruda stepped through, carrying what appeared to be a tray of drinks and food. His eyes widened when he saw her awake and he hurriedly placed the tray down next to where her dress was to check her temperature with the back of his hand on her forehead. After a few seconds and a satisfied nod of the head, he stood up again, picking up the tray and gently placed it on her legs. She looked at it and saw some form of hot drink and a plate full of bread and meat. It wasn’t exactly revolutionary cooking but she was grateful nonetheless.

   “I didn't expect you to be awake just yet,” he admitted. He waved his hands in front of her eyes, causing her to become slightly dazed but she still had a smile on her face.

   “And you were going to leave this here for when I woke? How would I have known who went to all this trouble for me?” He started sputtering as his cheeks took on a wonderful pink colour, which made her smile even more. Ever since being freed of the Lord’s grasp, she had felt that she could smile a lot more.

   “Well...I didn't think it really mattered that you knew who did it. You just need to eat something to get some energy back. How are you feeling?” He observed her carefully, happy that there was some colour in her face.

   “Tired. What happened? How long have I been asleep?”

   “Magical overload. Your body is becoming accustomed to a different type of magic and you stretched yourself a bit too far for your first run. It happens to the best of us, don’t worry. You’ve been out for a few days. Starting to make me worry.”

   “What type of magic do I have now?” She knew that her powers weren’t coming from her faith now. She noted how he said he’d been worrying about her.

   “Mine,” he replied simply. “Consider it a small gift. When I first planned it, it was meant to be a temporary replacement so that you could bring me back. But then...I guess it accepted you. I often have little control over what it does...or who it chooses to embrace.”

   “Is this your way of flirting?” she asked with a small smirk. Again, his cheeks went red as he tried to come up with an answer. He was usually so self assured that it was nice to see him on the back foot from time to time.

   “I’m not flirting!” he exclaimed, which left her feeling slightly disappointed. She tried to put it at the back of her mind. He realised how what he said sounded and wished he could take it back. It had been a long time since he had been in this position. 

   “Why were you in bed too?” she asked, changing the topic. She looked back to where the other bed’s sheets were messed up.

   “Same as you. Exhaustion. Used too much of my energy and after being back a short time.” There was something he wasn’t telling her.

   “And why did you have to do that?” He looked down at the bed, avoiding her piercing gaze.

   “Oh...well...you know how it is...sometimes you have to fight a dragon when things get out of hand.” Melisandre’s eyes widened as she somehow sat up further in bed. He instinctively moved back slightly, waiting for an explosion but she just sat there, quirking a questioning eyebrow. “Drogon was manipulated by Bran, which was possible because he was a warg. Thankfully, Jorah helped me sort the situation out and there was hardly any damage done.” There were so many things she wanted to ask that it was taking a lot of energy out of her.

   “Is Bran dead?” A dark yet sorrowful expression sat on his face.

   “It was the only way. He betrayed all of us and was only willing to do it again.” She could tell that he didn't want to talk about it so decided to take a different approach. She pretended that she had only just noticed her dress was not on her and enjoyed his reaction when he realised what she was looking at.

   “So...how come I’m wearing different clothes? I was sure I was wearing that before I collapsed.” How she loved it when he blushed.

   “Well...yes...you were. We just thought...well I did...that you’d be more comfortable in these.”

   “Who changed me, Bruda?” she asked with a devilish smile. He wanted to ravish her right there in that moment.

   “Um...I didn't touch anything! I wouldn’t do that to you. I respect you far too much! It was all done by magic as well!”

   “You do realise that you have seen me naked before,” she said, leaning forward. He realised that the night shirt was doing very little to hide her figure. He wanted to tear his eyes away from it but was strangely compelled. He was sure she was using some sort of magic.

   “Well...that was different. You were willing then.”

   “And I’m willing now.” That was all the invitation he needed as he leant forward and claimed her lips with his. It would be good to see how much energy she had back.

**********

   The gates of Winterfell creaked open once more as an envoy rode through it. This was a pleasant arrival though as those who had fled south for their own safety were coming back after the news broke that the war had been won. Families were reunited, children running off to their fathers as they embraced, tears present in many an eye. Wives smiled and cried as they were reunited with their husbands. Yet many were not so lucky. There was an obvious sense of happiness that the battle was over but there was still the feeling of great loss. Many people were walking around the courtyard, hoping to see a familiar face return to them when one was never going to show up. Daenerys hated seeing that but she was there to show her presence, to show that she was the queen. She knew that it was a small consolation but hoped that it brought some people comfort. She’d even approached a few grieving people to have short conversations with them, in the attempt to comfort them to an extent. Those who accepted her advances were only willing to share stories of those who had died, which brought a sad smile to her face every time.

   Daenerys was in the midst of one such conversation when she noticed a cart pull in and saw the recognisable face of Tyrion Lannister. She politely excused herself from the grieving woman and slowly walked over to where he was disembarking. It seemed difficult for him but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate it if she tried to help. She resigned herself to staying where she was, although she let a smirk grow on her lips. Varys was much more graceful in getting out and bowed deeply when they were in front of her. She smiled brightly at Missandei who, ignoring all previous protocol, gave Daenerys a tight hug, causing the other woman to have a shocked expression on her face.

   “Your Grace,” Tyrion said in greeting, followed by a short bow. 

   “It is so good to see you all,” she replied happily. “And in much better circumstances than the last time we saw each other.”

   “You look as splendid as ever despite going through such a horrible ordeal,” Varys said. “We were all very glad to hear that you had made it through unscathed.”

   “Although we were devastated to hear about what happened to Warlock Bruda,” Tyrion added, prompting her to look at him in confusion. That was until she remembered that she had not sent any other letters to them after her initial one, meaning they had no idea he was still alive. She was about to explain what had happened and tell them the good news when they heard a shout across the courtyard.

   “Marwyn!” came the shout and she saw their eyes grow wide as they watched the warlock quickly walk through the busy open area as he searched for the maester, who was currently attempting to step down from a wooden cart. They observed the interaction, one old man helping another out, in quiet disbelief. They started walking towards them and, as they got closer, they could hear snippets from their conversation. “I have got a lot to tell you!” he was saying with exuberant enthusiasm. “You wouldn’t believe the things I discovered. You’ll be able to write a book! Just remember to acknowledge me when you do so.” He briefly acknowledged them standing there as he walked past them, leading Marwyn towards the castle. “Oh hello! I’m glad you’re back. She’s too much of a handful these days with only me and Jorah keeping a watchful eye on her.” He protested loudly when she playfully hit him on the arm before he continued walking away. She turned to look at the three of them, who all wore stunned expressions.

   “I guess there is a lot to explain,” she admitted lamely.

   “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Varys reasoned. “He always was one to have a trick up his sleeve. I should know. We share it in common.”

   “But...how?” Missandei asked, wonder evident in her voice.

   “Magic,” Daenerys replied with a smile. It was far too complicated to go into detail and all that mattered to her was that Bruda was still alive. They knew that was the only answer they were going to get so Tyrion changed the topic to another important one.

   “I know it’s so soon after what happened but have you started planning your next steps at all? The longer we leave it, the more powerful Tommen will become in that he will be more protected. It wouldn’t shock me if he made the walls taller out of fear.”

   “He could build the tallest wall and I would simply fly over it. He does not scare me at all. I have faced death and won. A child is nothing compared to that.”

   “A child who is scared and willing to do whatever it takes to keep his throne,” Varys said urgently. “Which is why you have to approach this with extreme caution. If we can do this with minimal blood being spared, the people will gratefully cheer for you sit upon that chair.” Daenerys nodded, enjoying the image of that in her head.

   “What about Stannis?” Tyrion asked. “How has he been with you lately? I know it became...tense just before we left.”

   “Something has changed in him. That’s as much as I can tell. Maybe he has realised he needs me more than ever if he wants to get anything out of this. I was planning on calling a meeting later to discuss our strategy and your arrival gives me the perfect reason to do so. If you would be able to get that message across to those who should hear it, I would be very grateful.” Varys nodded his head and he and Missandei began to walk away. Daenerys was going to do the same when she noticed Tyrion staying where he was, confusing her. “Is there something that you wish to say?” she asked, an eyebrow quirked at him. He produced a letter from his pocket and handed it to her. As she read what it said, he began to explain its contents.

   “I received this from Olenna Tyrell. She’s the matriarch of that House and so controls a large portion of the kingdom, specifically Highgarden. They have always been a close ally to the throne since my family claimed it and her granddaughter is currently married to the king.”

   “So why would she want to contact me?”

   “She states that she has fallen out of interest of King Tommen and his little tantrums. Claims the power is going to his head. It’s poisoning him. I’d hoped this wasn’t the case but it gives you a good platform to state your case to rule. The people are growing tiresome in the capital. You may not have to shed a single drop of blood, apart from Tommen’s, if we go about this correctly.” He didn't enjoy talking about his nephew dying but he had chosen his side a long time ago. 

   “Why is she the one to be telling me this?”

   “Because she has insider knowledge of what is happening inside the Red Keep since she was a part of his council until she left. And the positive thing is that he did not send her away so does not expect her to change her allegiances so easily. She wants to support you, both tactically and militarily.”

**********

   Margaery wore an extremely worried expression on her face as she read the letter that had been delivered that morning. It was bad enough that her grandmother had left her alone and isolated in the capital but it was even worse that she was now opting to support the enemy. It just didn't make sense to her - the Tyrells had always been a family that prided themselves on making smart decisions, which usually meant being politically astute. It was the reason why they had grown so close to the ruling family, as well as having a large stronghold in the kingdom. So it baffled her that Olenna Tyrell was willing to take such a huge risk in supporting these usurpers, especially because it meant Tyrell soldiers would be fighting against the Crown. If they were to lose, it would mean disaster for her family, with the king only willing to destroy any people who challenged his rule. It explained why Olenna had instructed her to tell no one, mainly those still on the council and, of course, her husband. She had to consider what her next move should be. Could she betray her family and tell the man she was falling out of love with that another faction had joined this uprising or would she risk her own safety by not divulging this secret before Tommen found out? She placed her forehead on the cold glass window she was looking out in a miserable fashion, watching a rain drop slowly make its way down the pane. The weather had definitely turned recently, as if to mirror her increasingly sombred emotions. Winter had established itself across the kingdom and it left her feeling cold, both on the outside and inside.

   Olenna had even proposed that she flee back to Highgarden, just as she had done a few weeks previous. She had contemplated that idea, even starting to pack a bag with a few clothes and the basic essentials. As she had been doing that, her senses had come back to her and she had stepped back in horror at her actions. It was a stupid move and would have been a costly mistake. One she had been trained not to make. Even if she made it out of the Red Keep and then King’s Landing without being noticed, which was unlikely and risked her getting killed for treason, her absence would be quickly noted. After all, she was the Queen. The city was on such a high level of alert at the moment in terms of its security and the number of guards lining the city walls, that they would quickly rule out her being taken by someone, or even killed. Which meant they’d soon reason that she had left by her own volition. It would make it obvious that the Tyrells were retracting their support for Tommen and he would not react to that in a positive way, that was for sure.

   She felt a strange sort of sadness when her thoughts turned to Tommen. He had been such a pleasant young man, especially compared to his spiteful, mean spirited brother. Although she had never openly expressed such feelings, she had been extremely happy when Joffrey had been poisoned. And then equally as pleased when she found out she was to marry his quiet yet caring younger sibling. She’d had high hopes for him, mainly because he seemed manipulable, which meant she would be able to bring about some positive changes in the kingdom. She’d been prevented in doing so by his calculating mother but it had seemed things were finally turning in her favour when she had been executed. Yet the lack of pressure on him, free from the vicious grip of his family, had turned Tommen into someone he would have once despised. Lise so many good men, the power had destroyed him, poisoned him as much as Joffrey had literally been. His affection for her had dissipated as he became obsessed with his security on the Throne. And the worst part was that he never listened to her, meaning any chances of her swaying him towards her decisions had vanished in an instant. He was now worse than Joffrey because everyone underestimated how much of a monster he had become.

   She hurriedly packed the letter into a nearby drawer as she heard the door to her room open. Tommen casually strolled into the bedroom, noting her anxious demeanour. He could have sworn he had seen her put something away, as if she was scared to be found out. That was very interesting. He would have to remember that.

   “Are you okay, my love?” he asked innocently. She almost hated how he talked to her as if he still cared. It stung more than if he simply ignored any of the pretences. 

   “Yes, of course, my king. I think that my grandmother’s departure has just affected my morale.” Tommen’s expression soured.

   “It’s understandable. I was surprised when I heard she had left so suddenly. A real shame.” He didn’t sound sincere at all. Just more lies. She thought back to the letter she had just read and the traitorous words that had been written in it. She had a decision to make, right in this moment. She hesitated for a second, trying to think of what response she would choose. She needed to say something quickly.

   “I presume it was just her old age. I’m afraid the body is not alone in deteriorating at such a time in life. Her body was becoming fragile. I expect a short return to home will bring back good health to her.”

   “We can only hope so. She is a valued member of my council.” Lies. “Now walk down with me to the hall. I had a feast prepared for us. Show the people the luxury we have so they know not to challenge us.” There was always an ulterior motive.

   “I would be honoured.” Her pleasantness made her sick when she spoke to him. He began to walk out of the room and she spared a quick glance back to the drawer. She hoped she had made the right decision.

**********

   Once again, a large number of people had congregated in the largest room in Winterfell to try and plan what their next strategies would be. Many of them had thought the last meeting would have been their final one, the prospect of a war against the dead seemingly one that was impossible to get past. But now they had another battle to consider and one that would likely be more complicated to figure out. They would have to take into account the political nuances that were invariably involved in a coup against the king.

   As usual, there was a divide across the room. Daenerys sat with Jorah, Davos nervously looking around as he took a seat near them. Jon, as acting head of Winterfell whilst Sansa got back to comforts in the castle, was also there, almost enjoying the fact that this didn't really concern him, even though he cared about the wellbeing of Daenerys and her group of advisors. Tyrion and Varys sat either side of Daenerys and Jorah, hoping to offer balanced advice to their queen. They kept shooting cautious glances at Stannis, who sat on his own on the table opposite with a scowl on his face. The space between them indicated the isolation Stannis was stuck in, down to his own actions. It was in that moment that he truly realised how he had played the game poorly, thinking he could win on his own. He saw how positive the others were, able to talk comfortably with Daenerys. He had to change his tact and he hoped this meeting would give him the chance to do so. He let his eyes turn to Melisandre, who refused to look at him after their altercation. Judging by the expression on the warlock’s face, who was standing behind her with a protective hand on her shoulder, she had already told them about what had happened. It would just make his endeavours even more difficult and, again, it was all his own fault.

   “Do you want to start now, your Grace?” Tyrion asked her, leaning close to whisper in her ear. She nodded her head and stood up, causing a hushed silence to fill the room. She noticed how everyone’s eyes were on her, understandably, and she enjoyed the fact that it didn't faze her like it might have done when she was younger and starting this journey. 

   “By now you will all know that we have to strike quickly if we are to succeed in removing the false king from my rightful throne.” Stannis bristled at her word choice but smartly kept his mouth shut. “I see it fit that we begin preparing to move south.”

   “As soon as we do, the Crown will know. The king has people hiding across the kingdom who will gladly inform him of our approach,” Varys sagely warned her.

   “So be it. We don’t need the element of surprise. We have enough men ready to fight and we have already removed the possibility of the Golden Company joining them by having them ourselves. That’s over 15,000 men, which is plenty on its own. My Lord, how many men do you have left after the war?” She directed the question at Stannis. He acknowledged the pleasantry she’d used when referring to him but knew that the phrasing firmly put him in his position; below her. She was politically intelligent and savvy, he was willing to accept that at least.

   “Roughly fifteen hundred. We were decimated by the White Walkers but it’s still a healthy number. Just.” She nodded her head, happy that he was cooperating for the time being.

   “Joined together with the men loyal to me, everyone in the kingdom will see that it’s a formidable force to be reckoned with.”

   “That can work in our favour in another way, Daenerys,” Bruda pointed out. She sent him a questioning glance.

   “You do not want to be a ruler of ashes,” Varys continued. “Maybe you do not need to incite war. It might be possible to make Tommen surrender.”

   “He would still be alive and pose a threat to my rule,” she countered, focusing primarily on her potential security.

   “Then you kill him,” Bruda said simply. “It’s the way the world works.”

   “But you do not want to risk the lives of all those who live in King’s Landing,” Jorah added from his position next to her.

   “And when he finds out about our new ally...it will just force his hand even more,” Tyrion said, causing the others to look at him with confused expressions, Stannis especially.

   “What are you talking about?” he asked, his sour personality coming through.

   “Olenna Tyrell has vowed support to our cause. That was the last barrier to get past and the door has been kindly opened for us.”

   “But why would she do that? Last thing I heard was that she was a main member of his council.”

   “I presume she realised how strong we are together,” Daenerys said with a small smile. He enjoyed how she said ‘we’, as if they were a proper alliance, but still knew what she was doing. Trying to play him, to make him sweet.

   “Are you planning on meeting with her?” Davos asked her.

   “It is why I’m wanting to move now. The sooner we have finalised this deal, the sooner we can strike.” She turned to Jon, the first involvement of his in the conversation. “What are the plans of the wildlings?” He gulped slightly, thinking about the decisions he’d been forced to make.

   “They are planning on returning to their homes now the threat of the Night King has gone. And I will be travelling with them.” That surprised everyone. “Now that Bran is...gone, I feel it right that Sansa takes control of Winterfell.” Stannis’ expression turned angry.

   “That’s interesting. Because I was sure that I’m in control of this castle, seeing as I conquered it from the Boltons.”

   “And I was sure that this is a Stark stronghold. Sansa is the only Stark in existence now.” Not wanting this to get out of hand, Daenerys intervened, holding a hand up to stop them.

   “I feel like this can be sorted by my actions. Stannis Baratheon, you will have realised that we cannot both rule at the same time. Which is why I vow to trust to you any stronghold in the kingdom you deem fit for yourself...apart from Winterfell,” she added, looking at Jon. Stannis was about to speak when she stopped him again. “But only if you bend the knee.” 


	42. Relinquish and Claim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys has acted without the consent of her council - will it pay off?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last update before Christmas with it being such a busy time of the year. So enjoy the chapter, leave a comment, and have a very Merry Christmas and a happy holidays

 There was a stunned silence in the room, everyone looking between Daenerys and Stannis. He stood up, calmly tucked his chair back under the table, and walked towards her. He had an unreadable expression on his face, which worried her protectors. Jorah slowly put his hand on the hilt of his sword as Bruda took an imperceptible step closer to his queen. Stannis stood in front of her and she waited for him to speak. He looked around the room, observing everyone else’s facial expressions. This was his opportunity to save himself but, in doing so, he would sacrifice everything he had worked for over the last few years. Would he be willing to live in a kingdom under the rule of a Targaryen, the very girl he should have killed when she was just a child? He didn't know. But he knew that didn't matter. He didn't really have a choice in this matter. It was either allow her to be queen or go to war with her, which would damage both their chances of claiming the throne. 

   “You want me to submit myself to you after we formed an alliance? I was under the impression that we were going to stand together and remove Tommen as a united force,” he said, disdain for her clear in his voice.

   “You must understand, we will still do that. But surely you must have realised by now that we could never rule together. And seeing as I have the larger army, and one might say the greater claim to the throne, I think we can all see who should rule if we win.”

   “I could order my men right now to leave. Or, even better, turn against your men. The element of surprise would work in our favour, meaning your numbers would be greatly reduced.”

   “If you were actually willing to do that, you would not have just told me.” She stepped closer to him, a serious look on her face. “And, even if you did foolishly choose to do that, I have enough men to crush your army with ease.”

   “Stannis,” Davos said, reminding them that there were other people in the room. “It does not make sense for you to risk thousands of your men for revenge. The best option you have is to support Daenerys and reap the awards when we are triumphant.”

   “Oh and you would say that, Seaworth,” Stannis spat out. “Just another of her devoted lackies. How quickly did you turn to her side? What did she promise you? Or maybe the warlock did something to you behind your back. He’s obviously done the same to Melisandre.”

   “I’ll be doing something to you in a minute, Baratheon, if you’re not careful,” Bruda warned, a hand placed on the Red Woman’s shoulder once again. Stannis had no doubt that the warlock meant what he said.

   “Stannis...I know you have wanted Storm’s End since your brother sat on the throne. You can have all the glory that goes with the battle and then claim what is owed to you,” Daenerys offered.

   “The throne is owed to me.”

   “A dangerous lie to be saying in front of me.” Again, he looked around the room. There was no one on his side. That had been his downfall. Wasn’t it the best thing to do to preserve the small amount of dignity he had left.

   “You promise me Storm’s End?” he asked.

   “If I remove Tommen, you shall be able to move into it immediately. And...you will have a seat on my council. The position I don’t know yet but it will preserve the respect you should rightly have.” She had not discussed the last part to anyone, Stannis could see that. Especially from the looks coming from Tyrion and Varys. He was buoyed by the fact that this was obviously her own decision as it meant she was not always dictated by the choices of her councillors. He hesitated, his shoulders slumping as he swallowed his pride, the one thing that had cost him his chance at the throne. Taking everyone by surprise, even Daenerys, who had not expected him to relinquish his claim, he got down onto one knee, refusing to look at anyone. Initially keeping his eyes firmly focused on the floor, he finally looked up at Daenerys, who managed to turn her shocked expression into a neutral one.

   “I, Stannis Baratheon, being of sound mind, do hereby relinquish any previous rights to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms and acknowledge fully the claim of Daenerys Targaryen. I pledge to support her in her attempts to rightfully win back the Crown and shall stand by her side until she is victorious and after that time as well.” 

   “I, Daenerys Targaryen, the first of my name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons...do hereby accept Stannis Baratheon’s pledge of allegiance and vow to keep any promises I have already made to him on the condition that he should know any betrayal will be punishable by death.” Her tone was foreboding, warning him away from thinking about doing so. He nodded his head after a brief pause, signalling his acceptance of her conditions. Unbeknownst to them, as they finished their pledges, Bruda lightly tapped his staff on the floor, sending a few blue sparks to go off under the table. Because she was the closest to him, Melisandre was the only one to see him do it, causing her to look at him with a questioning glance.

   “Insurance,” he whispered simply, answering her silent query with a vague answer. She couldn’t pursue the topic with everyone around them. A silence had settled as everyone took in the massive event that had just happened before them. Wanting to remove himself from this awkward and belittling situation, Stannis stood up from his place on the floor and quickly bowed his head to Daenerys.

   “Well...my Queen.” That would take some getting used to, for all of them. “I think it’s best that I inform my men of these recent developments. They will still fight by your side, mark my words.”

   “Thank you, Lord Baratheon.” And, with that, he stalked out of the room, leaving the others to process his submission.

**********

   Sandor Clegane stared into the roaring fire whilst taking another considerable sip from his tankard of beer. That was the one thing that helped the pain he felt, after seeing what had happened during the battle. It had been so harrowing, his qualms with fire now seemed to pale in significance. He didn’t feel right about it still but he was better. Hence why he was able to be so close now. It was just so...trivial now. He would laugh if he could muster up any positive emotions. He had no idea how he had survived the war against the White Walkers, especially since he had been on the front line. He had never been so terrified in his life when the initial wave of dead monsters swarmed towards them, although he wouldn’t admit such a thing openly. They had been pushed back, taking massive hits, and then they had done the pushing, seemingly getting an upperhand for a brief moment. That had been a temporary moral victory as more just kept on coming. The Hound had been caught unawares by one of them, the savage creature slicing his left arm. He subconsciously stroked his arm where that fresh scar now was as he continued to think back to that dreadful night. The distraction had proved his undoing, with a group of them targeting him. They had been all over him, crawling over his body as he was pushed to the ground. He had managed to kick one away and kill one with a dragonglass dagger but their number had been too much. Sandor had practically given up, thankful that he had at least stayed to fight this time. But then a gigantic blue flash had shimmered over the battle ground, the unknown force being his saviour as the Wights, after a few seconds of confusion, simply stopped moving. Even more dead than they had been before. And he had somehow survived, getting up in disgust as he shoved their motionless corpses off him. He had spoken to no one since.

   Beric Dondarrion silently appeared behind him, placing a cold hand on his shoulder, surprising the larger man who had been completely lost in his own thoughts. He stared angrily at the older man who didn't seem to take any notice of his hostile nature.

   “Why the fuck did you do that?” he asked testily as he placed his glass on the nearby table.

   “You appeared to be thinking too much. You can’t lock yourself in here forever,” Dondarrion replied neutrally.

   “Why can’t I? I can do whatever the fuck I want. I thought I’d be able to have some time to think over what happened. It was quite the event, as I’m sure you know. I presumed you’d be happy that I was taking this opportunity to run through things. You wanted me in tune with my emotions. Whatever shitting nonsense you normally go on about.”

   “It’s good that you’re doing. War can change a man. But it is not healthy to spend such a long time alone, especially after this sort of trauma.”

   “I’ve been through worse. And I bet I’ll face worse in the future, knowing my luck.”

   “What are your plans now?”

   “What do you think I was thinking about before you interrupted?” Why was he so angry at Beric? He was forgetting something important. “Are you going to sprout your usual bollocks about the Lord of Light still requiring my services.”

   “It was never about service. It was down to faith. In the end, I believe you showed more belief than you realised you had within you.”

   “Sentimental nonsense. Even if he exists, which I still very much doubt, he had no part to play in me surviving.”

   “Be that as it may, I get the sense that his essence has faded ever since the war. His purpose is complete. And so is ours. We held back the darkness. We won.”

   “So where does that leave us? You drag me into all of this and now you’re saying it’s...finished?” He didn't know whether he was happy or sad about that.

   “You already know where that leaves me. Even if you’re trying to deny it right now. But, when it comes to you...your fate is in your own hands.”

   “How lucky I am.”

   “You should realise how lucky you are, actually. Not many people get a second chance.”

   “I think I’m way past having a second chance.”

   “Then make the most of this one. It seems that Fate is not done with you yet. You get to live your life. Many people don’t after the war.”

   “Any ideas where I should go?”

   “You think you have two choices. You’ve overheard the wildlings talk about how they are headed back past the Wall to their previous home. You’ve also found out many of the soldiers, under a Targaryen banner, are preparing to travel south, where they will fight yet another battle. Although you believe this one will be decidedly less bloody.”

   “Not the best of choices.” Again, he’d smile if he could.

   “Live with people who aren’t your own or fight for a woman you barely know. Yet you know both parties will accept and embrace you. Maybe that’s what frightens you the most. You were alone for so long after you left King’s Landing. You tried to resist becoming a part of our group and, now that possibility is gone, you fear that you have missed your last chance of finally being a part of something bigger than just yourself. You’re debating whether you can truly opt to walk away from all this on your own after what you have been through.”

   “It’s just...difficult. I’m not a part of those groups.”

   “You fought alongside members of each group. That connects you in a truly unique way. A brotherhood that will always remain unspoken but as strong as any other.” Clegane looked back at the fire, contemplating Beric’s astute words. 

   “Maybe you’re right…” he said as he turned around but, as he looked back, Beric was no longer there. It was then that it hit Sandor. The dark realisation he had been trying to forget. Beric Dondarrion had died in the war, sacrificing himself so that a younger man could get away from a horde of wights. That young man had been the one to tell him. The last person he had spoken to. He was alone.

**********

   A flurry of hair came bounding over towards Davos, gripping him tightly as it caught up to him and taking him by surprise. A smile instantly came to his face when he realised it was Shireen, using his free hand to ruffle up her hair in an affectionate manner. It was the first time he had seen the young girl since she had returned with her mother. He wondered whether she knew about the latest developments about her father and his official joining to Daenerys’ side. She was one child who enjoyed eavesdropping on the soldiers mingling around the grounds of Winterfell so it was likely that she already knew. But, if she didn't, was it his place to tell her? It would hopefully mean that they would no longer have to see each other in private, away from the watching eye of Stannis after he had forbidden him the right to talk to her. It hadn’t stopped them at all since he cared for her too deeply but it would be better for them if the secrecy was to go. Even if he suspected she liked the element of danger somewhat.

   “I have been looking for you everywhere, Ser Davos!” she exclaimed in an exasperated manner that made him want to chuckle.

   “I was in a very important meeting,” he explained, pretending to be disgruntled with her. A blush rose to her cheeks as she realised how needy she sounded. She was about to apologise when he started laughing again, causing her to scrunch up her eyebrows in annoyance. “No rest for the wicked, child. We win one war and now have to prepare for another one.” She was basically bouncing up and down in excitement.

   “Ooo, can you tell me what was said? What’s going to happen now? Father wasn’t too happy about whatever it was as far as I could tell from his expressions before.” That meant he hadn’t divulged the news to her. He pretended to think about it, rubbing his beard whilst her impatience grew.

   “I don’t know whether I should tell you all about it. It was, after all, extremely secret. I don’t know whether you’re even old enough to know such things.” She stuck out her bottom lip, his fake resistance quickly fading.

   “Oh please, Ser Davos!” she pleaded, tugging on his cloak. “I am old enough! I’ve ridden a dragon! Surely that shows I’m ready.”

   “Some men are worse than dragons,” he muttered quietly. “Especially in this game. But maybe you’re right.” She began to smile brightly as he crouched down in front of her. “Queen Daenerys is planning on travelling south so that she can win back her crown that she rightly deserves.”

   “Just like in my stories. The gallant prince fighting for his honour. It’s strange...they never focus on a woman trying to rule.”

   “Well that’s what Daenerys wants to change. And she’s a lot stronger than the men in your stories, Mark my words.”

  “She does have dragons,” she giggled. “Even the bravest person can’t stop them.”

   “I’ve seen a man face a dragon before. Maybe not win because he was holding back to protect the beast but he certainly held his own.”

   “Who?” she asked in awe. Instead of answering, he produced the wooden dragon she had given him before she left from one of his pockets. She looked at him with wide eyes, knowing who he meant from his actions. “Really? The old man fought a dragon?”

   “Indeed he did? Just before you got here. Don’t worry, the dragon was being hurt by an evil person. He’s alright now.”

   “And how is the warlock?” she asked worriedly. He took her to the edge of the walkway, looking down at the courtyard. Bruda was currently walking through with the Red Woman, gesticulates wildly as he recounted some crazy story. She laughed as he somehow noticed them watching, sending her a wink before leading Melisandre away. “He certainly seems okay and happy,” she remarked, watching his retreating figure.

   “Aye. Nothing can stop that man. Thankfully for all of us. No wonder Queen Daenerys loves him so much.” He placed the wooden figurine in her hand, closing her fingers around it. “He said he wanted you to have this back. It was very useful to him in the end.” She tenderly stroked one of the wings.

   “He said he needed to be brave,” she said absentmindedly.

   “Pardon?”

   “Before I left, he told me that he was going to have to do something that frightened him. He said that he had to be brave and made sure I was going to be too.”

   “He was right. And he was very brave. Which is why he can be so happy now. He saved us all.”

   “I should give him a hug the next time I see him,” she said with a mischievous smile. Davos smirked, picturing his surprised face if she were to do so.

   “I think he would greatly appreciate that. Although I’m sure Melisandre has been giving him plenty recently.” He was glad she was too young to realise what he was actually talking about.

   “Why was he with her? I thought she was father’s advisor. Mother never really liked her.” Oh, if only Selyse knew half of what they had done, Melisandre and Stannis, he thought bitterly.

   “It’s something that relates to what I was going to tell you. After the meeting earlier, your father decided that it would be best if he works even closer with Queen Daenerys. He wants her to win the throne. So you’ll see more of us working together.”

   “Did you know this before? You’ve been close to Daenerys and her partners for a while.”

   “...exactly. I knew how special she was and how the people of the kingdom will surely love her. Your father took notice of her qualities. He’s a smart man.”

   “Oh does that mean we can spend more time together?” she asked excitedly.

   “I certainly hope so,” he answered softly.

   “Ooo, and I’ll get to see the dragons again!”

   “Maybe if you’re well behaved, lass.” She vigorously nodded her head as he laughed, leading her away to the warmth of the castle.

**********

   Daenerys much preferred being solely with her council than having Stannis lingering around. She was looking out the window, observing the goings on of the people down below with mild curiosity. It was comforting to see some people living life without worrying about dethroning a king and fundamentally changing the political landscape. Jorah was watching her nervously, wondering what was going through her head. Her decision had shaken all of them, which is why they were meeting now. Seemingly more relaxed about the situation, Varys was sat down with a glass of wine in his hand as usual. Today had been a masterful success, even if events had blind sighted him, which very rarely happened. With each passing day, he was beginning to have faith that he had made the right choice in following Daenerys. She was showing all the qualities she needed to be an effective and beloved queen. Certainly less calm than the eunuch, Tyrion took a large gulp from his cup of wine as his politically savvy mind pondered over recent developments. Daenerys had taken an almighty risk today and, thankfully for everyone, it seemed that it had worked out safe and sound. He was not a fool though and still did not completely trust Stannis, no matter what assurances or pledges he made to them. He was a man obsessed with his own duty and had wanted that throne like a hungry animal wants a meal. So he couldn’t comprehend why there had been such a profound change in his attitude in such a short space of time. He would be sure to advise his queen to continue to keep a careful eye on him. Bruda was watching them all, his eyes darting from one person to the next, as he stood in the corner of the room whilst leaning on his staff. It was a rare moment where he wasn’t with Melisandre, the two of them recently growing closer. He had no clue where she was right now - probably resting up since she was still feeling the effects of his magic. It was enjoyable to see how one choice could send people into a panic. No wonder he had a smirk on his face.

   “Khaleesi.” Daenerys would have known who had started the impromptu meeting just from the title used if she hadn’t instantly recognised that deep, gravelly voice. She turned around to face him. “You have always been a brave woman, willing to take risks if you thought it would help you.” She sensed a but coming. “But...do you really think it wise to trust Stannis? For him to change his attitude in such a way only tells us that he is planning something.”

   “He knows full well what the consequences will be if he betrays the promise he said to me. And as to why he would change his tune...he is a survivor. He knows that his political life hangs in the balance and I am the person who ultimately decides his fate. Only a smart man, who values his life more than his foolish aspirations for a throne he does not deserve, would make this decision.”

   “But do you think this means you have his loyalty?” Tyrion asked, trying to make her see that there was still a danger in this. “Surely you’re not so naive as to believe that.” She ignored the insult.

   “It is a good thing that all I seek is obedience, not loyalty. There is a fine line between the two but a valuable difference to be learnt. I do not want him to be devoted to me. I want him to cower at my feet. Do you understand, Lord Tyrion?” They were all a little scared of her in that moment. The imp quickly nodded his head. 

   “I for one think it is a brilliant idea,” Bruda said, moving towards Daenerys and gleefully putting an arm around her shoulders. “The easiest way of controlling someone is to keep them as close to you as possible. And your main goal has to be to control him until you have the Throne under that arse of yours.” He stopped himself from hitting it when he saw the angry glare directed at him by both Daenerys and Jorah. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Varys?” He knew he was happy with the events of the previous meeting just from watching his actions before.

   “Indeed. You finally, unequivocally, showed Stannis the amount of power you currently have. You gave him no other choice but to join you by your side without expressly asking him to. Going through the large numbers of men you have at your beck and call...you made it seem to him as if it was his own decision, which is crucial with a man like Stannis. He wouldn’t have done it nearly as easily if he had known you wanted it too.” She bowed her head in thanks to him for his kind words and appreciation.

   “And gentlemen,” she said, looking at Jorah and Tyrion. “I will continue to watch him carefully, as I have been doing since we arrived at Winterfell. Davos is now as close to us as he is to Stannis, maybe even more so, meaning he can keep a watchful eye on him and tell us if any new developments arise. And Bruda here seems to have gotten a way in with the Red Woman…” She smirked at his blushing cheeks.

   “Well...anything for the cause, milady.”

   “Oh, and that’s the only reason you’re growing close to her…” He simply rolled his eyes as she tried to get more information out of him. 

   “I’m surprised the old dog still has it in him,” Tyrion quipped with a laugh, earning a dark glare from the warlock.

   “The ladies struggle to resist refined older men such as myself and Jorah,” he replied, twirling his cloak slightly extravagantly. 

   “When do you plan to start moving south?” Jorah asked Daenerys, trying to get the conversation back on track.

   “As soon as possible. It makes no sense for us to wait when each day makes King Tommen stronger. We must arrange a meeting on the way with Lady Tyrell as well. Would you be able to write to her, Lord Tyrion?”

   “Certainly. I’m hoping she has valuable information on the king’s plans. The difficult part will be how to get into the city. I’m sure the security is on high alert at the moment and that won’t change any time soon.”

   “They could have all the soldiers in the kingdom. And they still wouldn’t stop me from claiming what is rightfully mine.”


	43. Rights and Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa steps into her role as Daenerys readies herself for the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's been quite a delay since the last chapter but you finally have the next update. We're reaching the final stages of the tale.

Jon was incredibly nervous about seeing Sansa. When she had returned, she had been practically begging him to tell her all about what had happened during her time away. He had just been able to dismiss her questions, telling her to rest more before they had a proper conversation. That meant he still had to tell her about his decision about his future and his commitment to the wildling community. It also meant, more importantly, she had no idea that Bran had died. He had considered telling her he had tragically perished in the battle but he knew deep down that it was the wrong thing to do. And he didn’t doubt that she’d eventually find out the truth. He knew that the longer he left it, the worse her reaction would be.

   Sansa was waiting for him in her room, holed up inside the castle of Winterfell. It was the same room she had grown up in as a child but, after all the changes of ownership that had occurred recently, it had lost all the personality she had bestowed upon it. It was now a cold, dark room. Nothing marked it as any different from the hundreds of other rooms in the castle. But that would soon change. The war was over. Daenerys Targaryen and Stannis Baratheon would hopefully be leaving her family home sooner rather than later, taking all their men and savages with them. Then she’d be able to make it feel like their home again. Her and Jon. That didn’t mean she was particularly happy with him. Soldiers used the down time to drink and that meant they talked. About a lot of things.

   Jon was slightly perturbed by her expression as he came into her room. She said nothing, evaluating his face for the guilt she expected to see. He slowly closed the door behind him, the silence quickly becoming deafening. He tried to maintain eye contact but her icy glare eventually made him look away. He wanted to know what she already knew because, from looking at her face, he could tell she already knew something. It just was left for him to determine what that was. The way she was looking at him...it reminded him of the way she had acted around him when they were mere children, when her thoughts of him had been plagued by callous words from her mother. He hadn’t expected her to look at him in that same fashion ever again after they had grown closer but here she was. Looking at him as if he were a piece of dirt. He felt himself shrink under her gaze.

   “How was the meeting?” she asked with hardly any emotion, acting as if they were in for a normal conversation. He was happy to keep that going to stop the inevitable tirade.

   “Productive,” he replied. “And shocking. Stannis is now under Targaryen control.” Sansa barely lifted an eyebrow in response. 

   “All I care about is whether that means they will now be leaving my home. Our home. I want things to go back to the way they were.”

   “I think the plan is for them to head south within the next few days. Daenerys wants to be gone as soon as possible.”

   “So this castle isn’t good enough for her?” she asked bitterly. Even if she wanted her gone, there was still an irrational part of her mind that didn't want Daenerys to disrespect Winterfell.”

   “You know that’s not what I meant. She has her eyes set on the Throne. She didn't have to help us against the White Walkers but she did. And lost many men doing so. So the least you can do is give her the courtesy of not judging her before you actually spend proper time together.” That shocked Sansa. She hadn’t expected such a strongly defensive response. She wanted to shake her head. He was just another man caught under her spell. 

   “I probably won’t have time to. Maybe when she is queen, if she manages to become the ruler, we will visit as the Northern powers.” He looked down at the floor guiltily, which she picked up on. “What?”

   “You’ll be the ruler of Winterfell. Not me.”

   “You’re just as much of a Stark as me. So you’ll take control.”

   “Not by blood. And that’s the most important thing. You’re the last remaining Stark.”

   “Even so...you will be here by my side to help me. So that we can grow the house name again to what it once was.”

   “About that...I’m not going to be here.” She stood up abruptly.

   “Why?” she asked with a hint of anger. “Are you going with... _ her _ ?”

   “No, no. Mance Rayder died in the battle, which means the wildlings no longer have a leader. Tormund wants me to help them settle again.”

   “But you’re not one of them! You owe them nothing!”

   “They need my help! There are so many different clans and groups currently together. There’s bound to be at least one person who sees this power vacuum as an opportunity to enhance their own power only. They are good people. I owe it to them to make sure they don’t fall apart again.”

   “This is your home.”

   “Not really. It never was. I was always an outsider. Don’t pretend like you didn't know. I’m the bastard. As long as I stay here, I will always be seen as that. They’re my family. And, by establishing them properly further up North, I will be repaying Daenerys by making sure they don’t pose a threat to her future reign.”

   “You’re turning your back on your true family. Just as you did to Bran.” He paused, the colour draining from his face as he realised she had already found out about her brother’s fate.

   “Who told you?”

   “Soldiers have a tendency to talk about many things. It was a pretty big event.”

   “I was going to tell you.”

   “Where you?” she asked skeptically. “Because I don’t think you would have. Since I can tell you feel guilty for it. You were a part of the group who condemned him to death!”

   “You don’t understand what happened.”

   “You killed him. That’s what you did. Maybe not literally. But you agreed to it.”

   “He was the reason the Night King came here! You know he had changed. He was no longer the boy you knew. Bran was nothing like we ever realised.”

   “And who told you that?”

   “Bruda.”

   “The old man? That crazed old man who follows Daenerys, the woman who would benefit from getting rid of a Stark now she wants the throne? What proof did he give you?” He didn't know how to explain what the warlock had shown him. His silence made her presume he had given none. “You say I’m now the ruler of Winterfell. If that’s so, I order you to take me to see her. It’s about time we had a conversation.”

**********

   Sansa, with Jon hurriedly trying to keep up with her, stormed into Daenerys’ room. She was surprised to see that it was unlike any room in the castle since she had walked into what seemed like a waiting room, with the Targaryen’s sleeping chamber blocked by another door to the right. Jorah stood up as she entered, relinquishing his hold on his sword, an automatic movement that had been caused by the sudden entrance. Jon gave the knight an apologetic shrug of the shoulders. Bruda, sat calmly in the corner reading some pages of old parchment with his spectacles on the very end of his nose, merely looked up at the commotion, relishing in the angry expression that was directed his way by the Stark woman. He neatly folded the parchments way, stowing them in some deep pocket in his robe that was hung lazily on his chair, and took off his glasses. The only sound in the room was the snap of the wireframes coming together as he put them away too. With all their attention on him (just as he liked it), he stood up and silently walked towards Sansa. She held back a gulp as he towered over her. He’d always seemed like a pleasant man yet now she was definitely seeing a different side to him.

   “You can’t just barge in here,” Jorah said from behind them, although she didn't take her attention away from the older man. Looking away would be a sign of weakness, she knew it. 

   “I am the Lady of Winterfell. Last time I checked, we are currently in said castle. In other words...I can do whatever I want.” Bruda smirked at her feisty words. He’d barely interacted with her before. He had to say he was impressed with what he was seeing. 

   “What is it exactly that you want?” he asked her. He could see her slightly relax as she realised she was going to be listened to. She hadn’t had a position of power or authority before, that was clear to him. 

   “To speak with Lady Targaryen.” She was trying to be polite at least. Bruda could easily tell it was fake.

   “She’s a very busy woman. You know...planning a political coup. Takes a lot of energy to do so. What do you want to talk about?”

   “I feel that I should know what her plans are and when she is choosing to leave my home. We are grateful to her for her help in the war but Winter is a difficult time, especially when it comes to feeding our people. Our hospitality can only stretch a certain length.”

   “You could, and probably already have, learned all that from Jon here. He was there for the meeting. No...this wouldn’t cause you to charge into here uninvited. There’s something else on your mind.”

   “The murder of my brother.” Jorah visibly blanched, knowing he had been the one to do that. Bruda gave him a reassuring nod.

   “Again, I’m sure Jon explained to you what happened and why it had to happen.”

   “He gave me the same excuse you gave him before it happened. I want answers. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the reason Bran is dead. Wars have started in the past for less than that. Is she going to risk that same fate?” The warlock held up a placating hand at Jorah, thankful that she thought he had killed the Raven. 

   “Are you threatening us?” 

   “Just letting you know what situation you’re in right now.”

   “Then you should know that I did the right thing. And it’s something I would gladly do again. Jon argued against it vehemently but I showed him what was going on. He was not your brother. Not anymore.” He could see her getting angrier, not accepting his words.

   “Bruda.” They turned around as they say the other door open, Daenerys standing in it, looking at Sansa carefully. “You do not need to defend your actions. That task is down to me, seeing as I am the one Lady Stark wants to talk to.” She moved to the side, signalling that Sansa could come in, which she did with a cautious look at the others. Jorah moved to follow her but Daenerys placed a hand on his chest to stop him, giving him a reassuring smile. “This needs to be done between the two of us alone.” She closed the door behind her and slowly stepped into her room. A small round table was in the middle of it, which Sansa was currently standing awkwardly next to. “Please sit,” Daenerys said, gesturing to one of two chairs placed by its sides. “Would you like a drink of some sort?” Sansa shook her head in the negative. The blonde woman poured a hot sweet tea into a small cup, a delicacy that Varys had introduced her to, and sat opposite the younger girl. “You want an explanation of events that took place in your absence. And you rightly deserve the answers you seek.” Sansa waited patiently. “You were not here to see what happened in the war. Dreadful things occurred that even my nightmares would never concoct.”

   “I can only imagine.”

   “And, after the battle, we discovered that your brother was the reason why the Night King attacked us. You knew that Bran was different after he became the Three-Eyed Raven. You have to view his actions as if he were someone else, which he truly was in the end. The Raven before him was in league with the Night King and he carried that on.”

   “And what proof do you have of this?”

   “The kind that is almost impossible to explain. Magic. Bruda showed us. And I trust him completely. But, even if you don’t believe me, then you only have to look at his actions when we confronted him. He attacked us. Would have killed us if Bruda and Jorah hadn’t intervened. You would have seen the damage to the outer walls.” Sansa couldn’t believe Bran would do such a thing. She sat in silence, contemplating Daenerys’ words. “I feel that me and you are so alike and, yet, I sense a tension between us. Why?”

   “My brother.” She wasn’t talking about Bran this time. “Jon. He loves you.” Daenerys wore a surprised expression. “Don’t act like you didn't know. He is just like every other man, falling at your feet in the hope of making you smile. Men do stupid things for a woman like you.” Daenerys tried not to be insulted by her insinuations. 

   “I care for Jon.” Sansa’s eyebrow quirked in question. “My one and only goal has been to win the Iron Throne. But I came here to help him. I fought a battle, lost men, when I didn't have to. Surely that shows how high a regard I place him.”

   “And what about Tyrion? I need to know that he is treated well. He always gave me the utmost respect.” Daenerys smiled warmly. 

   “He is one of my most valuable advisors. He is one of the main reasons why I have a chance of taking back the Throne from those who stole it from my family. He will be protected once I rule. And it will not be long now. But I must know that any tension between us has been resolved.”

   “That all depends on the North.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “It was taken from us. And now we have it back. And I don’t see us bending once again to the will of another person. Not even you.”

**********

   Sansa’s emergence from Daenerys’ room startled the three men who had been waiting patiently outside. Jon began to speak but the young woman, wearing a neutral expression, simply stalked out of the room without uttering a single word. They turned to the open door, staring at Daenerys, who had emerged shortly after her. She had a scowl on her face which worried them greatly. The last thing they needed was for her to be in a dangerous mood, especially when her plans were in such an important stage. They would be meeting Olenna Tyrell in the space of a few days. They needed that discussion to go better than the one that had just happened, judging by her facial expression. She looked at Jon, searching his eyes. Had Sansa told the truth about his feelings? It had come as a surprise to her since they had hardly spent any time alone together. But Sansa had said that was her form of magic, something completely different to the sort Bruda possessed. If her mood hadn’t been so sour, she might have enjoyed the thought of the jealous reaction it would all prompt out from Jorah. Maybe even Bruda.

   “You’re not joining us, are you Jon? When we leave tomorrow.” He bowed his head, not seeing the confused looks on the other mens’ faces. He tried to find the words to formulate a response.

   “No, Your Grace. Tormund, on behalf of the wildlings, asked me to help lead them. I could not turn him down after what we have been through.” Daenerys, despite her feelings, smiled slightly. He always tried to be so noble from what she had seen.

   “I can’t say I’m disappointed. You have proven your worth since I met you.”

   “That is high praise indeed. But I fear I would not have been much use to you after you sit on the Throne, which I’m sure you will. I’d only be another sword and you already have plenty of those. They need me more.”

   “Well, you can visit whenever you want,” Bruda said, sending him a rare smile. They had often been at odds with one another but he couldn’t fault what the lad stood for.

   “And I’m sure you will prove to be an excellent leader.”

   “I’ve learnt from the best. You and Mance.” His smile dropped slightly as he thought of his somewhat mentor.  

   “Yet, I fear without your presence here, your sister won’t be able to cope with the demands of ruling. She is a powerful young woman but one who needs to learn the extent of her power.”

   “What did she say?” Jorah asked fearfully.

   “She wants the North to be independent. She is fearful that, after regaining it so recently, we would effectively take it back by ruling over it. Despite it surviving just fine these past centuries.”

   “That’s preposterous,” Jorah exclaimed. “I doubt she would get the support from the nearby noble families if she put it forward. They know they rely on the Crown for a lot of their basic necessities.”

   “I don’t know,” Bruda said. “Dangle that carrot in front of a hungry man, the ability to run your own life for the first time in generations. I bet many of them will side with her.”

   “It is just another obstacle for me to overcome,” Daenerys sighed. “But I have managed to deal with worse than a petulant child who hasn’t grown up yet.”

   “She’s more capable than you think,” Jon countered, defending his sister. “She’s been through a lot. Abusive relationships, losing loved ones, physical torture.” Daenerys’ nostrils flared at his defiance.

   “And it pales in comparison to what I have been through,” she barked. “I will not let her stand in my way. She doesn’t even have control of the region yet. Stannis effectively does for the time being. Meaning her efforts will be delayed.”

   “So you don’t need to worry about this until you have won the Throne,” Bruda assured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She regained her composure and smiled back at the old man. She was always thankful he was there.

   “That’s true.”

   “If you don’t mind, Your Grace,” Jon interrupted. “We’re leaving later this evening and I need to sort out some last minute things before I go. Is it alright if I’m excused.” She nodded her head and he moved towards the door.

   “Jon,” she said, halting him. “It has been a pleasure.”

   “The same to you. I’m sure this won’t be the last you see of me.” And, with that, he walked out of the room, preparing for his next journey. Daenerys sat down in a nearby chair.

   “Are you okay, Khaleesi?” Jorah asked her. 

   “All I have ever wanted is to take what is owed to me. To destroy those who ruin this kingdom with their selfishness and greed. And now people who I thought were like me turn out to be against me. It just makes me question the ideas I have had in my head since I was a small child.”

   “Not all your enemies will be the archetypal fat, white man who lives in a tower above the people he rules over,” Bruda remarked. “There are many people in this kingdom who are perfectly fine with things staying as they are. And it can be confusing. All you have to do is show them that you can bring a better, fairer world to fruition. Which I know you can do.” She reluctantly nodded her head, prompting a tendril of blonde hair to fall out of place. The warlock knelt by her side and delicately moved it behind her ear. “Sansa is by no means your enemy yet. There is still time for you to forge a relationship with her which could see you work together. The North is an important political ally. You fought by their side. People don’t tend to forget these sort of things.”

    “But only worry about that when your primary goal is achieved,” Jorah told her. “The Throne is within sight. You have never been closer. The kingdom has never been closer to the bright future you can bring.”

   “Let that future shine bright,” Bruda finished with a wink and a grin.

**********

   Everyone was now ready. A cold sun was looking over the courtyard as the final preparations were made. A legion of horses were waiting outside the castle gates with many soldiers sitting on them. Banners bearing the sigils of Targaryen and Baratheon, as well as some smaller Northern houses and the Greyjoy badge. That was despite their two leaders falling in the battle against the White Walkers. There were murmurings throughout the camps that the presence of Euron Greyjoy in the capital could pose a threat to Daenerys simply because he could sway those remaining soldiers back to his side. An attack from within would probably prove to be fatal, Bruda had sagely warned her, so, when they reached King’s Landing, that portion of the army would be towards the front of their battalion so that they could look out for any surprises. 

   Despite that, there was a quiet confidence growing amongst their ranks. After putting Sansa’s words to the back of her head, Daenerys had spent the evening strategising with her council, only taking a break to see off the large party of wildlings and Night’s Watch members who were leaving for the Wall. She had given Jon a polite hug, ignoring the angry glare from his sister, before he got upon his stallion. Sandor Clegane had come up beside him, warily looking at Tormund and Ghost on his other side. She had later been told that the Hound had chosen to follow the young Snow, knowing he would be a useful asset up in the wilderness. After their departure, the castle grounds had appeared strangely empty and quiet despite there being many soldiers still living in the camps nearby. As the stars began to appear in the inky black sky, Daenerys had joined Jorah, Bruda and Davos outside as they sat around a fire, simply discussing their lives. The warlock had spun many a tale, most of which she doubted were true but they were still entertaining enough. She had been interested to learn about Davos’ past life, listening intently as he talked about a particularly daring adventure he had been on to smuggle a chest of golden brooches into one of the Free Cities. The story had ended with him fleeing for his ship as he wore one such piece of jewellery on his cloak. Yet her favourite part of the evening had been snuggling up to Jorah as he recounted stories from his childhood on Bear Island. He had spoken with a candor she had rarely seen in him as he reminisced. The night had gone far too quickly for her liking.

   A surprisingly relaxing sleep had brought her to this point, where she surveyed the goings on as Bruda sidled up next to her. Crates of weapons were being loaded into wooden carts as men made their last checks that they had everything they needed. Davos was handing out pieces of bread and some form of food to the soldiers and she noticed him pick up a particularly large piece for Shireen as she ambled over. She smiled as he ruffled her head, the look of disgust evident on the young girl’s face, before she hurried over to the horse that her mother was on, next to Stannis. She would be riding on it safely in front of Selyse. She noted how Melisandre was looking over at the warlock by her side as she waited on her own horse. Daenerys gave the clueless old man a soft nudge, alerting him to what was going on. He gave her an energetic wave and a large smile, which made both women laugh. It was strange to see the Red Woman display such emotion in public but that was the effect Bruda had on her. 

   As horses began to move through the castle gates, Jorah walked over to them, closely followed by Davos, who had finished his job. Daenerys greeted them with a smile, Bruda a nod of the head. She didn't show the emotions whirling through her head as she tried to grapple with the fact she was getting closer to her ultimate goal but the action of Jorah placing a hand on her shoulder signalled that he could tell what she was going through. It was a talent he had shown constantly throughout their relationship, even when he was merely her soldier, and she thanked the gods every evening for his gift.

   “All the resources have been packed away,” Davos said. “We’re now ready to leave. Just awaiting your orders, Your Grace.” She was too busy watching some Dothraki men galloping around, whooping and shouting as the taste of battle grew strong once more. She was thankful that some had survived the previous war; their tactics would be like nothing seen in the kingdom, which meant other armies wouldn’t be able to deal with them. She was hoping their reputation preceded them and struck fear into their enemies’ hearts. That was if it even came to a battle. Jorah was still hopeful little blood would be spilt. He looked at her with kind eyes.

   “Your horse is ready, Khaleesi. We’re hoping it will be an easy journey to Highgarden. Olenna Tyrell will make sure that easy passage is guaranteed. But our number is so great, we should not be troubled by anyone as we march.”

   “That won’t be a problem,” she said as they walked outside the walls of Winterfell for the last time into the open space. She looked up to the sky. “I won’t be needing my horse. And neither will you.” He looked at her in confusion. A roar from above could be heard, followed by another three. Drogon, Rhaegal, Viserion and Hidebyo soared over their heads, prompting many of the horses to rear up in fright. The soldiers moved out of the way as the beasts landed, flapping their wings and sending gusts of wind flying at them. She walked over to Drogon who showed his large sharp teeth in a sinister snarl as if he were telling them he was ready for their next adventure. “We shall fly.”


	44. Shadows and Killers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys meets an ally as Margaery tries to be careful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've soared past 200,000 words! What an adventure it has already been and we've still got a few chapters left to go. As ever, please comment - they'll spur me on to the finish line

Highgarden was a green sanctuary, tucked away from the harsh reality that filled the rest of the kingdom. Flowers nowhere else seen across the large island bloomed annually, leaving it to look and smell simply wonderful. That’s what Olenna Tyrell thought anyway. The difference in air quality was astounding when you compared her home to the wretched streets of the capital, where she had spent far too long living in. She was thankful that she had gotten out of there when she had. The little twerp on the throne had just given her the reason to make such a decision. She hardly recognised herself when she looked at the woman serving him. She had been disgusted by her actions, watching her tongue around him when she would usually launch into a tirade if anyone else had been so truly incompetent. He was not a leader. Not by any stretch. And she had heard all about this wondrous woman from the East, who had made her way to the kingdom already. For some reason, she had journeyed to the North, as far from the throne as possible. She presumed it was in order to strike up a deal with Stannis Baratheon. It was a politically acute move, even if she did not hold the man in high favour. Olenna could hardly believe that the king had listened to her warnings of storming into a battle unprepared. It had meant this Daenerys Targaryen could amass an army and forge a strong alliance without being interrupted. It would make it all so easy for her to conquer the poor kid. And she had made it happen with a few well chosen words. She’d be proud of her genius if she didn't do it so often.  
   The one thing that concerned her was the fact that her granddaughter was still living in the Red Keep. She had written to Margaery in the hope that she would see sense and leave just as she had. But no response had come to her pleas, consigning her to defeat. She wasn’t exactly surprised despite her frustration. Margaery would have recognised that she had a duty as queen and had to be loyal to her husband. If she had left, it would have spooked Tommen, raising too many alarms for him not to take notice. He’d instantly know that the Tyrell family had defected, bringing his army knocking on their door. They’d struggle to get through of course but that had been the plan. If they had been distracted by the possibility of treason, then they wouldn’t have noticed a girl on a dragon soaring over their heads to win back what was hers. That stupid girl should have put herself first, as she had been told to do throughout her life. If this obedience cost her her life, at least Olenna would have smugness on her side.   
   She was sitting by the balcony, overlooking the large area of greenery and expansive fields. It had always been a reassuring sight for her, reminding her of what she had. Right now it symbolised what she had to lose, which was why she was hoping this gamble would pay off for her and her family. Maybe not Mace. He had always been such a disappointment in her eyes. How she had spawned such a wimp was beyond her. A bowl of fruit had been placed in front of her, as she expected. She enjoyed having access to such luxuries. It had been the first thing she had requested after returning home, besides a strong drink. Speaking of which, two goblets of wine were also on the small round table, waiting for her guest of honour. She had been noted of sightings of a large army heading this way, bearing all sorts of banners. She knew it was the Targaryen girl. She had instructed that no news of this was to be spread otherwise she would find the perpetrator and punish them personally. Although it was unlikely that this would stop the king discovering what was going on, it would hopefully delay him long enough for them to get a head start on him. They needed that element of surprise.   
   Yells of terror could be heard nearby. Olenna could only smirk. That meant one thing. She was here. The old woman stood up from her seat, away from the wooden shelter, so that she could look up at the brilliant blue sky. Despite it being Winter, the sun had still been shining in these parts. She took it as a sign of hope that she had made the right choice. Covering her eyes to block the harsh sunlight, she made it a large shadow in the distance. It was like nothing she had ever seen. It glided almost peacefully through the few clouds that were present, every so often disappearing from view, although the clouds were often too small to obscure the shadow for too long. It let out an almighty roar to signal its arrival, a warning sound to tell enemies to stay clear if they had any sense. She liked how this girl operated. Olenna was momentarily surprised when another shadow appeared, slightly smaller this time but very similar in shape. Then another, pretty much the same size as the second. The fourth and final mirage was the largest and, even from where she stood, she could make out its dirty orange colour. As they soared closer to the ground, she could finally see them for what they truly were. She was not old enough to have seen a dragon, a properly sized one at least, when they were much more common in these parts. All she could say was that they were absolutely magnificent creatures. The way their wings cut through the sky showed off their power without them even trying. And the small figures on top of them were controlling these great beasts, or at least guiding them to some extent. She had been very intrigued and excited to meet Daenerys Targaryen. Her curiosity and interest in the girl had just tripled. 

**********

   Margaery stalked the halls of the Red Keep, the one pass time she kept whilst living in the capital. It was the best option in securing her safety, she kept telling herself. If she was constantly on the move, then it was less likely that someone on behalf of the king could ambush her. It was why she kept in the large castle; going outside left her vulnerable. Anyone could approach her if she were on the streets unprotected. At least in the Keep only a handful of people could get to her. She could fend off a few people. She hadn’t even ventured to the Great Sept, where the High Sparrow now hid, no longer wanting to be associated with the king’s sadistic plans. She didn’t blame him. But not going outside meant she could no longer help the citizens who were suffering under Tommen’s reign. He had stopped thinking about them completely, too paranoid about the potential attack to consider anything else. All monetary support had vanished, instead being put into suring up the city defences. She had heard him whisper to Qyburn about the development of a new weapon, although she hadn’t seen anything of the sort. That was likely because she had not ventured out of their home for a good few weeks. It had left her face gaunt and her skin pale. Tommen was slowly sucking the life out of her without actually doing anything. He probably hadn’t even noticed, he barely looked at her anyways now. She was just a figure who roamed the corridors, a shadow of her past self. All the joy she had once had, all the ambition and thirst for power, had disappeared. She felt empty. Hopeless. Vulnerable. At risk. And, as a Tyrell, she had been brought up to make sure she avoided any situations that left her feeling like this. She was far too gone now to get out. Margaery had resigned herself to her dreaded fate. It was more painful not knowing when her heart would finally give out.  
   After a few hours of avoiding everyone in the Keep, only interacting with the few cats that were still brave enough to prowl the dark building, she eventually reached her door and immediately knew something was wrong. It was partly open. She sucked in a deep breath, placing a hand on the adjacent door. What surprised her was that there were lights on. It obviously wasn’t an ambush then because they’d be more careful. Whoever it was wanted to be noticed. And only one person she knew fit that bill. The boy child starved of attention all his life and, now that he had it, he never wanted to lose it again. Her husband. Tommen was casually sitting by the table in her room, sipping from a glass of water. He very rarely drank alcohol. He claimed it would dull his sense and that was when his enemies would strike. She would always nod her head and agree with him when he rambled on about it, no smile on her face even though the thought of his death often filled her with joy during the cold nights. Why was he in her room? What did he want with her this time? It was probably time for her to be used solely for her body. She could say it was the only time they were intimate but there was no love and affection involved. She was merely an object for those few, unsatisfying minutes.  
   “I was wondering where you had been,” he began, not looking at her. He was seemingly admiring the golden petals that adorned the wall. “I was starting to think you had left, just as your grandmother did.” She bit her tongue, taking note of the warning in his voice. It was as if he knew she had contemplated doing exactly that.  
   “I am not as foolish as her,” she responded. Not as brave, she thought bitterly.  
   “Rightly so. It is why I am so lucky to have you. You are loyal, as a wife should be.” She ignored the sexist remark to focus on the one thing that got her attention. Had he just complimented her? A sign of affection? What was going on? “Why don’t you take a seat? I thought it would be nice for us to dine together for a change. Alone. Like a married couple should do. It’s been too long since we did something like this.” Still not trusting the sentiment behind his words, Margaery slowly and cautiously sat down opposite him. He sent her a smile, which she returned, albeit a much smaller one. In front of her was a bowl of hot stew with large pieces of meat and an assortment of vegetables floating at the top. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of telling him it smelled divine, but it did. What made it worse as that were so many people outside who would kill for just a mouthful. He stood up and dished out two servings, heaping a generous amount into her bowl. He then proceeded to offer her a plate of bread, which she took two from. It wouldn’t do as a lady to scoff herself in front of her husband. She still remembered her duties. As he sat down, the quiet now beginning to unnerve her, she waited until he ate from his own dish before trying it herself. There was always a reason to be cautious and she didn't trust him enough not to do something to her food. She hungrily drank some of the thick broth, enjoying the warmth it sent down her throat.   
   “I feel like I must apologise for how I’ve acted recently. I fear that my paranoia reached unhealthy levels. I should have focused on you more than my political enemies.” Where had this change of heart come from? she wondered in her head.  
   “You do not need to explain your decisions, Your Grace. The safety of the Crown and yourself is the most important thing in the kingdom. It is only right that you prepare for attack against those who seek to oppose you.”  
   “No, you’re not listening. I should have spent more time with you.” He produced an open letter from his jacket pocket. Her face went even paler than it had been. “Because it seems that it is not just my enemies who I should be wary of.” It was the letter Olenna had sent her. She had not been careful enough, just leaving it in her drawers. “Do you care to explain your actions?”   
   “My being here shows how loyal I am to you. She wanted me to leave but I chose to stand by your side, just like I promised in our wedding vows.”  
   “Or does it show that you felt that, if you were closer to me, it would be easier to strike? Taking the power all for yourself.” She tried to stand up but her vision went dizzy, sending her crashing back down into her seat. Her hands were trembling. She should have realised right then that it had nothing to do with the fear coursing from her body. “You should know by now what happens to treasonous cowards who dare to stand against me. You always spoke so lovingly. How many lies did you say to me? No king should stand for it.” A sheen of sweat was beginning to form on her brow. She hadn’t been careful enough. He hadn’t done anything to the food. He had tampered with her bowl. “A discreet trick designed by Qyburn. He is such a clever man.” She could hardly utter a word. Pain shot through her arms. Her eyes became bloodshot. “Shush now. There is no point for you to waste your energy in talking. You spoke too much anyway.” She took one last look at the figure standing over her. Right now, he was showing how powerful he was compared to her. But she knew his time was running out. Just like hers. It was impossible to fend off an invisible killer. She began to choke painfully, her throat seemingly collapsing in on itself. The figure before her lost all its focus. Her head slammed into the table, knocking the bowl over that had killed her. Tommen sneered at her lifeless body and walked away, locking the door behind him.

**********

   Daenerys carefully clambered off Drogon’s back, spending a moment to stroke his face in a suitable show of affection towards the creature. She watched as the other three dragons landed, just outside the walls of Highgarden. There was plenty of open space for them to stretch themselves here, although she knew they would not be staying long. This was merely a brief stop on her way to the capital. Olenna Tyrell would be able to pass on key information that they did not yet know, information that would likely be crucial to them earning a victory. She failed to hide her smile as she observed the men attempt to gracefully get off their beasts. Jorah and Davos, who had flown together on Rhaegal’s back, awkwardly shimmied down the scaly skin, both almost losing their footing on several occasions. She pretended to have not noticed their struggles when their feet touched the ground in order to save their blushes. Bruda, on the other hand, simply slid down from his perch in a fashion that belied his age, landing firmly on his feet with a satisfactory grunt. Was there nothing he could not do? she thought to herself, still smiling. A shout from closer to the walls got their attention. Tyrion, Varys and Missandei, who had travelled ahead of them so that they would beat the dragons and the rest of the army, were waiting for them, surrounded by a group of five Tyrell soldiers. She had been expecting a larger number to greet them but took it as a good sign. She hoped it meant that the Tyrell matriarch trusted her.   
   Olenna was waiting for them at the same spot she had first seen their arrival. She didn't bother to stand up. There was no time for and no point in practicing silly shows of respect. They both knew that they needed each other. Daenerys walked ahead of her party and stood behind the only spare chair at the table. She waited to be greeted. It wouldn’t do to disrespect a potential ally so soon into their meeting.  
   “I hope you don’t mind me sending an escort to greet you,” Olenna said with a wry smile on her face. “You can never be too careful these days.” She waved her hands and the guards walked away, leaving them alone.   
   “I’d be more worried if you hadn’t sent anyone,” Daenerys responded. Olenna smirked and gestured at the chair.  
   “Sit, sit.” Daenerys did as was requested. “My, I’ve been told of your beauty but words cannot do you justice. You remind me of myself when I was your age.”  
   “I fail to see how I could live up to such high standards.”  
   “I see you were brought up well. You practically already know the game you’re playing without hardly any practice.” Straight to the point. She liked that. “I’m glad you chose to visit me. It tells me that you have at least some sense.”  
   “I have to say I was intrigued by your letter. You made it sound as if the goings on King’s Landing were more dire than even we imagined.” Olenna looked at Tyrion this time, who stepped slightly forward under her watchful gaze.  
   “Your nephew is ruining the kingdom because he is not a ruler. He is a coward. A scared little child, which is only natural since he is still a child. Your sister had a lot of faults, which resulted in her death, but at least she knew what to do on the Throne. Tommen is too scared to lose his Crown so does not wear it as a king should.” She looked at Daenerys. “But when I look at you...all I can see is the fire that is needed to do what is necessary. You see, the Lords and Ladies of Westeros are sheep. They will follow even the worst ruler if it means they survive. But you, my dear, are not a sheep. Are you?” Daenerys shook her head curtly. “No. You are a dragon. So be a dragon.” Daenerys’ lips curled at her comment.  
   “I know you have reached out to me out of a hatred of King Tommen rather than a love of me.” Olenna shrugged her shoulders.  
   “Does that matter? You need to learn that, to be a good ruler, it does not depend on whether you are loved. There will always be people who are hungry for your position so it is impossible to guarantee unwavering support. You want obedience. You have to show them the power you have, which you have plenty of.” She took a sip from her glass. “What are your plans?”  
   “We have enough men to easily take the capital,” Tyrion said. “It probably wouldn’t last a day.”  
   “But I will not be Queen of the Ashes,” Daenerys remarked. “If we attack in such a manner, too many innocent people will die.”  
   “This is war. That tends to happen,” Olenna countered. “What are you going to do then? Ask politely whether you can have the Throne.”  
   “I want peace.”   
   “Pfft. Peace. Do you think we had peace when your father was king? Or with his father? His? The best you can hope for is a balance within the kingdom. People will always have complaints on either side of the coin. You have to keep flipping it.”  
   “Which is why we thought it best not to antagonize the Lords across the kingdom,” Tyrion said. “Our army is on its way. It will be here within the next couple of days. But not all of it will travel to King’s Landing. We think it best that only Westerosi soldiers are involved, otherwise Tommen would get the other Houses to turn against us since we’d look like a foreign entity. That means no Unsullied and no Dothraki.”  
   “You still have enough men though?”  
   “Stannis Baratheon heads his portion of the army, many houses from the North behind him,” Daenerys answered. We have the remnants of the Greyjoy contingent that deserted the Iron Islands, as well as the Golden Company. And, we’re hoping, some support from you.” Olenna nodded her head.  
   “That can be arranged. But you said you did not want to attack the city. It sounds as if your plan is to do exactly that.”  
   “The armies will surround the city. No one will be able to leave and nothing will be able to get in. If he chooses not to negotiate, he will starve along with his people. But it will not come to that. We have dragons. I don’t see why I cannot just fly to the Red Keep and capture Tommen.”  
   “If only it were that simple. But Tommen obviously knows about them. Which is why he designed a weapon specifically made to kill dragons. I think he called it a Scorpion. As soon as you get near, he will give the command and you will be blown out of the sky. I doubt he remembers mentioning it briefly at the council table.”  
   “So, we must attack.”  
   “I didn't say that. Because, if you get rid of those weapons, you will have a free run at him.”  
   “We can’t do that without getting shot at,” Davos said, speaking for the first time. She reacted as if she had forgotten the rest of them were there.  
   “Unless we send someone in,” Jorah suggested.  
   “The gates will be monitored every hour of every day,” Tyrion reminded him. “Practically impossible.”  
   “That won’t be a problem,” Varys said. “Spiders know different ways to get into a building.”  
   “And I think I can smuggle one person in,” Davos added.  
   “The fact is that you would need someone with the capability of tampering with the weapons, which will be scattered throughout the city, but also someone who is not recognizable to the guards. That person doesn’t exist,” Olenna summarized.  
   “You’d be surprised,” Daenerys said with a smirk of her own as they all turned to look at Bruda, who gave them a worried and pleading look.

**********

   An old man wandered the streets of King’s Landing, blending into the hive of activity that made up Flea Bottom. He was a shadow amongst the chaos. He had been told that it would likely be empty, with many of the citizens said to have fled the city due to the terrible rule of their king and the diminishing living conditions. But it was still busy. These were people who had no choice but to stay, despite everything that was going wrong. He felt sorry for them but couldn’t help but marvel at how many of them still wore smiles on their faces, especially the children as they ran about the streets, playing some game they had just imagined. He had been like that once. In many respects, he still was. They acted as a reminder of how this city needed to survive, how they couldn’t just rampage through it as they had initially planned. No ruler would be able to survive such a shoddy and gruesome beginning, not even one who would likely become beloved like Daenerys.   
   Bruda turned a corner, heading down a narrow, cobbled side street. He’d been carefully instructed where to head once he was inside the city walls by Davos. The former smuggler had been the one to get him close to the city in a small boat they had haggled for. He’d been dropped off on a small beach that was looked down upon by the tall stone walls that defended the city. They’d immediately spotted numerous guards patrolling the wall, all armed with swords and crossbows, so had quickly hidden behind some well-situated rocks and boulders. Davos had been the first to spot what looked like a massive crossbow on one of the turrets and they had both immediately realised that this was one of the weapons Olenna had spoken about. It was at that moment they had spotted two guards scouting out the beach but it hadn’t taken a lot for Bruda to discreetly deal with them. His companion had given him a wary glance at how easy it was for him to kill people, which was responded with an awkward shrug. They’d shook hands and Bruda had been on his way, Davos sailing away to head back to where the army was camped.  
   As the warlock politely waved off a market seller who was trying to offload some frankly disturbing pieces of ‘meat’, he thought back to his farewells to everyone before they had left. Daenerys had been suitably wary since he was partaking in an extremely dangerous plan. She had been reluctant to let go as she gave him a tight hug, forgetting all pretenses of her being a leader when it came to showing compassion for those she cared for. Jorah had practically been forced to drag her away from him before he gave him a pat on the back and a wish of good luck. Melisandre, who had arrived just before his departure with the rest of their contingent, had strongly protested any notion of him going in alone. He had tried to explain why they had decided it had to be him and why it had to be done but she wouldn’t listen. She’d even asked him whether she could join him but he’d countered with the fact that he didn't want her putting in harm’s way and her appearance wasn’t the most inconspicuous. Before she’d been able to let out another argument, he’d planted a tender kiss on her lips which she eventually melted into. He was savoring that thought as he delved deeper into the belly of the city.  
   Still following the directions he had made sure to memorise, he made it to a particularly noisy shop. He was surprised to find it was a blacksmith’s, wondering why Davos had sent him to this particular spot. He had told him that he knew someone in the city who had fight in him, something that would come in handy if they faced multiple soldiers in their way, which they knew would happen. Bruda would be glad for any muscle to back him up. Magic was a blessing to have but one strong hit would surely stop him in his tracks. He wandered up to who he presumed was in charge, fighting the urge to cough due to the fumes and smoke being emitted. He had to speak loudly over all the noise, asking for the name he had been given. The other man, a big fellow who Bruda doubted could string multiple sentences together, looked at him peculiarly, wondering why an old man would want to see his best metalworker. After a few uncomfortable questions, Bruda had seen fit to click his fingers, causing a dazed look to fill the man’s face. He proceeded to lead the warlock further into the forgery, stopping at a young man who was bent over as he banged a hammer against a hot strip of metal. The owner left without a word and Bruda’s target looked up with a puzzled expression.   
   “Gendry Baratheon,” Bruda said in greeting. Gendry looked around awkwardly, wondering whether he should lie to this stranger. But there was something in his eyes that told him he wouldn’t be able to get away with it.  
   “Yes. Who’s asking? Who are you?”  
   “Your way out of here.”


	45. Calm and Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys arrives at King's Landing as she fights to secure her destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive chapter for you! At over 10,000 words, it is the longest chapter in the story. I could have probably split it up into two but I thought I would treat you all to a bumper packed addition. It has been a fun chapter to write as well. You'll notice one section is directly from the show but I thought it was a very good scene involving Tyrion. I put a lot of effort into this chapter so I hope you enjoy it and please comment down below to give any thoughts or feedback.

A small armada of ships slowly crossed the water into Blackwater Bay in the direction of King’s Landing. They bore the sigils of the Greyjoys, the Second Sons and the Golden Company, a collective that would have seemed impossible such a short time ago. The calmness of the water they were traversing over was in stark contrast to the chaos and disarray that was soon to happen if everything went according to plan. They had put forward multiple options on how to attack the city, many which were quite impossible and too full of risk. It wasn’t meant to be easy, claiming the seat of power for the kingdom. That wasn’t to say that the plan they had finally agreed upon wasn’t full of risk. It all depended on things that they couldn’t control happening in the way they hoped. It would all be for nothing if that warlock Daenerys liked so much failed in his goals. For some reason, Melisandre had been far too upset to see him go. She had never shown such compassion towards him before and she was supposed to be working for him.  _ With him _ , he reminded himself, as she’d often complained about the semantics. And, even then, he was now an understudy to Daenerys. He had to keep telling himself why he was now playing that role, otherwise his subconscious thoughts would take over.

   Stannis walked to the front of the ship, trying to see if their enemies had spotted them yet. It wouldn’t be long, he told himself. They weren’t exactly a small party, although they definitely weren’t as large as they could have been. Daenerys had decided on that. To be fair to her, he did feel as if she was approaching this well, using her council to formulate these tactics.  _ It was all down to chance _ , he repeated in his head. As he observed their surroundings carefully, hardly any noise heard apart from the ship’s hull breaking the water and the few soldiers around him tentatively moving about, he thought back to those who had stayed behind. Many of their army, mainly those not from a Westerosi background, had stayed at Highgarden under the protection of Olenna Tyrell, as had anyone who couldn’t fight. That meant Selyse, his wife, and Shireen were waiting anxiously for when the news came of their victory.  _ Or defeat _ . It was no time to think of that likelihood. He was doing this for them, no matter what the outcome was. That was down to Fate.

   He was brought out of his warring mind when a low horn was sounded from the top of the mast. Up ahead, the capital’s own fleet was camped, with the Red Keep visible high up above them. He really hoped this plan would work. He didn't reach for his sword. Neither did any of the sailors. There would be no need for that. It was now time to see if Fate was on their side.

**********

   “My Lord,” came the shout across the ship. Euron Greyjoy looked up as one of his men alerted him to something going on. And it sounded bad. Which meant it was going to be good. He raced towards the side of the ship, leaning over in curiosity as he searched to where men were pointing. They were all springing into action like they had been trained to do. A well oiled machine, which was why the Greyjoy house was so revered on the water. But he was not participating in their preparations. A hungry smile filled his face as he saw what had got his men so excited. He’d been told that an attack was likely by the king but he had never considered them to be so bold as to target the bay first, out in the open. A youngish sailor came hurrying up to him, already out of breath due to the frantic nature of the commotion.

   “Should we ready the Scorpions, sir?” he asked. Foolish boy. All of their ships had been fitted with the king’s new toys, making them even deadlier than they usually were. There was no sight of dragons, though, which were their main target. And if they just destroyed these ships, they’d probably be sucked into a trap. It was obviously a distraction and whilst they focused their firepower on the boats, they would likely be passed overhead. No. They needed to approach and fight. Board those traitorous vessels and make them wish they had never turned their backs on the rightful leader. Yet, even he knew that wasn’t his true motivation. He’d been made angry by seeing his house banner blowing in the wind on the other ships. He wondered if he would come across his disloyal family members. That brought another smile to his face.

   “Don’t bother. Prepare all ships to sail towards the target. Surround them. We outnumber them so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

   “Should we alert the mainland that an attack has begun, sir?”

   “No. We’ll deal with this by ourselves easily. No need to worry the little shit wearing the crown.” The young man hesitated, looking as if he was trying to find the courage to debate such tactics, before scuttling off to send the message. More shouts around him as he stayed still, brimming with a vengeful lust. The ship began to move, the spearhead of their formation as it was the largest. He let out an animalistic cackle.

**********

   “Are you going to explain to me what is going on?” Gendry asked with little patience as Bruda directed him towards the main street of King’s Landing. What was surprising him was how fast the old man could walk. He was struggling to keep up as the warlock rushed through a maze of side streets, stopping him suddenly as they got to his next destination. The main road that connected the city gates to the Red Keep was littered with people, many filtering from their stacked up houses that surrounded either side of the street. People were yelling at each other, some more pleasant words than others. But Bruda was focusing not on them but the soldiers that lined the gate, blocking anyone entry towards the Keep or the city walls. That would soon be sorted though. Hopefully. 

   “There isn’t a lot of time to go into detail,” Bruda responded with his usual briskness. “As you can see, I’m a bit preoccupied.” He went to lean on his staff before he remembered that he had left it under the protection of Daenerys. She had presumed it was so that he blended in more easily with the crowd; he didn't want to get all soppy and tell her it was an extra layer of protection, just in case. He wasn’t planning on losing her when they had got so close to the finish line.

   “Why should I do whatever you say if you don’t tell me anything?” The old man gave him a sideways glance.

   “You’re the one who decided to follow me. Why did you do that? You don’t know me at all. And yet you trusted me enough to drop everything you were doing because I asked.” Gendry looked to the floor, twisting the large weapon in his hands around to occupy himself. Bruda let out a sigh. “You’ve been waiting for something like this to happen for a while now, haven’t you? Bored of the mundane life you now live after a brief exposure to some excitement?”

   “I was a prisoner,” he said as they continued to creep forward, still surveying the armed guards. “Of Stannis Baratheon, for a while. This strange woman wanted me because I was related to the king. A bastard son. But I escaped. Kept my head down. Just not the same after being plunged into that world of political intrigue and plots.”

   “You’re really not going to like who I work with then,” Bruda muttered.

   “Why? Who are you in league with? Stannis? That woman? Who sent you? No one knows I’m here.”

   “You’re old friend Davos Seaworth,” he answered, stopping Gendry in his tracks. “He felt that he could trust you with protecting me. You’re my muscle.”

   “Wait a minute. Why do I need to protect you? I can’t do anything unless you tell me what is going on!” Bruda hushed him as a soldier walked past the alley they were hiding in. He pushed him down slowly so that they were both in crouching positions. 

   “This city is about to be attacked. Actually…” he paused, looking up to the sky as he thought for a moment. “It is probably in the process of being attacked right now.”

   “By whoever you’re working for.”

   “Exactly. Daenerys Targaryen is about to come banging on those city doors but she can’t do anything whilst the new defences are operational.”

   “What’s she like?” Gendry asked, changing the topic and causing Bruda to look at him strangely. “There’s been a lot of talk about her in the streets. Excited mutterings really.”

   “She’s a leader. Brave. Cunning. And smart. But also not a killer. She doesn’t want a war. She doesn’t want there to be unnecessary death unless that’s her last option. I’m sure you’ve heard about the weapons the king has made.”

   “Not a lot. People say that they were designed by his freakish maester who keeps to the dungeons deep in the Keep. Dragon killers, people call ‘em, but I don’t know why they’d need that.”

   “Targaryen. Her last name. Think. You’ve heard the stories.” Gendry’s eyes widened.

   “No way!” Bruda hushed him again.

   “If we can take them out, all she has to do is fly over to the Keep and roast the little twerp for supper.”

   “But we have to get past those guards if we are to have any chance of getting to them.”

   “That shouldn’t be a problem.” They stood up quickly as shouts began to fill the air. Soldiers were relaying hurried messages as orders were barked out. There was a scramble as men clad in gold armour, armed with longswords, began to hurry to the main gate that protected the capital.

   “What’s going on now?”

   “She’s banging on the front door.”

**********

   Daenerys climbed off her horse with a steely expression on her face. As usual, she was flanked by Jorah and, with Bruda’s absence, Davos, who were both still on their horses. Tyrion was riding along as well, even after she had suggested he shouldn’t. Although Varys and Missandei had wisely decided to stay at Highgarden since they would not be able to help fight, Tyrion had explained how he still thought it possible to talk some sense into his nephew before any battle started. She had wanted to tell him it was a lost cause but he had pleaded strongly. It was worth a shot at least. Behind them, marched her army, several thousand men all wearing armour. An eclectic mix of allegiances although they were all loyal to her. It consisted of the Greyjoy soldiers, kept away from their ships just in case they joined Euron at the last minute, Stannis’ amassed numbers, the Tyrell faction gratefully given by Olenna after their meeting, and the bulk of it was made up of the Golden Company. She never thought that she would use sellswords because of their tendency to switch sides if they felt a battle was turning but this was necessary. Not only did it mean it swelled her numbers considerably, it also meant they would not be on the side of the Crown, which was the likely alternative.

   In front of them was the city wall, taller than she had imagined. It showed her how petrified the past rulers had been of losing the power they had taken from someone else. It was an endless cycle that she wanted to put to an end. She understood how that power could change and corrupt a person. She understood how, once she claimed that position, it had the capability of doing the same to her. But she also understood how she had people by her side who would prevent that from happening, even if she disapproved of her actions. She questioned how calm she would be if she were attempting to take the city without the support of her council, especially Jorah and Bruda. She dreaded what lengths she would have gone to in order to win. She eyed the large crossbows that were placed on top of the wall, directed towards them. Even from a distance, she could tell how large they were. She hoped that Bruda would succeed in dealing with them, although she still didn't fully know how he would accomplish their plan. She looked behind her at her advisors.

   “How long?” she asked simply.

   “They’ll have noticed our presence already,” Jorah answered. “As we wanted them to.”

   “Now we wait,” Tyrion said.

***********

   Qyburn hurried through the dark corridors of the Red Keep, his cloak almost tripping him up a few times. He wasn’t hurrying out of fear, though. This was soon to be the young king’s greatest triumph. They would write stories in the future about this victory, how he defended the city against the deadly attack of the Dragon Queen. And he would be by the king’s side, the man who made it all possible. It would be impossible for them to take out so many scorpions that lined the walls, as well as the ones that had been fitted onto their naval rearguard at the bequest of Euron. He didn't particularly like the Greyjoy leader but he had a thirst for blood that was commendable. They needed more men like him, who would do anything to win. That’s all he had done. He had sacrificed his place in the Citadel to be able to actually achieve something that would change the world. The Scorpions were just the start and, once King Tommen was properly secure on the Throne, he would be allowed to go further with his experiments and tests.

   He reached the door of Tommen’s bedchambers and knocked politely. He was bid entry and slowly walked into the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. They needed to act now whilst she still thought she had the advantage. There was no way she could even know about their new weapons. He could almost smile he was that confident of victory. Tommen was staring out the window, overlooking his city, pondering what the day would bring. Qyburn coughed to get his attention back.

   “Your Grace,” he said, “we have word from the Kingsguard. Daenerys Targaryen marches upon us with her army.” Tommen turned around, unable to find words for a moment.

   “How many?”

   “I’m led to believe several thousand support her. But that is an insignificant factor, sire. They will not be able to get past the city walls.”

   “Dragons?”

   “No mention of them yet. But I doubt that they will not be here soon. Yet, as you know, they will not affect the outcome either. There is no way she can get past.”

   “Then what is she doing?” Tommen asked irritably.

   “Waiting, it seems.”

   “Then let’s go meet her. It’s rude to keep our guests waiting for our arrival.”

**********

   A member of the Kingsguard, running in the opposite direction to his comrades so that he could alert the rest of their number, collapsed to the ground unexpectedly for no visible reason apart from a sharp burst of golden energy that quickly disappeared into the air. Gendry pulled the body into the dark alley they were hiding in so that none of the others would notice their partner had fallen already. He looked at Bruda expectantly, waiting for him to explain why he had attacked the soldier.

   “Put it on,” he said.

   “What?” Gendry asked, confused.

   “Put it on. The armour. No one else will be walking around the city now because it’s on high alert. So we’d instantly get spotted. But, if they think you’re a guard and I’m just a simple prisoner, they’ll hardly bat an eyelid.” Gendry did as he was told and it took him a few minutes to first get the armour off of the dead body, apologising every so often when he dropped the corpse accidentally (Bruda explaining to him that the man was dead so he wouldn’t feel any of the pain, rendering his apologies useless), and then put it all on himself. With the large, golden helmet, it would be very difficult to tell him apart from the other soldiers. 

   “So what are we going to say if someone asks what we’re doing?”

   “I’m not going to say anything. Because that would be strange. Feel free to shove me around a bit, by the way. I’ve dealt with worse. No, you’re going to tell them that I’m in league with Daenerys and the king wants me on display on the wall so he can gloat. He’ll be on his way now, I’m betting. That was what we hoped anyway.”

   “So we’re going to be surrounded by soldiers. What do you plan to do then?”

   “If we aim for the furthest part of the wall, there should be fewer soldiers there. We’ll be able to take them out quite easily I reckon since they’ll likely all be archers. No good in an up close fight. I need time to get to one of the Scorpions. The only way I can destroy them is by finding out what they all have in common.” He looked at the younger man, who he could tell had a nervous expression on his face. “Don’t worry though. There won’t be anyone there.”

   “You reckon? We’d need some fucking good luck for that to happen.”

   “Or meticulous planning. Trust me - this is just the calm before the storm.”

**********

   The ships led by Euron wasted no time in circling the fleet headed by Stannis. If Daenerys’ entire fleet had been there, it would have been a different outcome. But they wanted to be surrounded. Stannis had never felt though that it would be so easy to lure them into this false sense of security. He had heard stories of Euron’s madness but this really showed it. He hadn’t even thought of the peculiarity that the attacking ships were still to fire a shot. In fact, none of the ships had cannons on board. Daenerys had seen it as a waste of valuable resources. The rest of the fleet had been bulked up instead. Stannis’ mind briefly wandered back to the last time he had been in this bay, when he had suffered an agonising defeat. Maybe this time he wouldn’t be leading the army to victory, but at least he would be on the winning side this time. That was all that mattered for now.

   They didn't retaliate as the main vessel, the one carrying Euron, sailed slowly next to them. They hardly moved as a long plank of wood was placed between the two ships. Euron, followed by a group of soldiers, smugly walked over the plank, a little jump announcing his arrival on deck. He surveyed his surroundings peculiarly. Something wasn’t right, that was for sure. But that didn't matter. They had already won at a canter. They had basically surrendered. He marched over to Stannis, whose stoic expression had not changed since the crazed man had come into view. Euron was very close in front of him, Stannis feeling his hot, stinky breath on his face. He kept his neutral expression. 

   “Stannis Baratheon,” Euron said with thinly veiled glee. “Oh I’ve heard stories of you. I’m surprised you have the balls to show your face around here after you lost. Don’t you remember? You wanted that throne and got your arse handed to you by a child. Pathetic.” No show of emotion. He was ruining Euron’s enjoyment. He hated it when they didn't play along with his games. “And now look at you. Not even in charge. You’re just a puppet for that stupid little bitch. She’s sent you here, on this ship, to die. Instructed not to fight back? You are a sacrifice. ‘Cos she knows you’re worthless. What did she do to make you agree to all of this? Suck your tiny, little cock?” No response. Euron wanted to shout but then he’d lose his cool. Then Stannis would know he was affecting him. “You’re not a talker, are you?” He gestured to his soldiers, who began walking around deck, swords drawn. “Kill everyone on board.” They did so. Screams and shouts could be heard as Stannis’ men dropped to the ground without a fight. Euron didn't watch. He instead focused on Stannis, who still showed no emotional response. It didn't take long before they were all dead. 

   “That’s everyone, my Lord,” someone shouted as the last body dropped. That got Euron’s attention. He looked at his man with an angry expression.

   “Can’t be!” he yelled. “That was hardly anyone!” He quickly moved over to a dead corpse and removed the helmet. Behind it was an old man. In fact, they were all old men on this ship, apart from Stannis. It was the same on the other ships as well. Those too old and sick to live on, who had volunteered to be a part of Daenerys’ plan. Stannis was there to sell the attack’s authenticity. Euron stepped back to his opponent. “Where is everyone? There’s not enough people here to sail a ship, let alone attack the city.” And that was when Stannis’ expression changed, a smirk growing on his face.

**********

   Tommen stood on the top of the city wall, Kevan Lannister standing by his side. He had sent word to the High Sparrow to meet them there but he had received a message back that he would do nothing of the sort. He planned to deal with such blatant insubordination later, once this little distraction was taken care of. He looked down upon Daenerys, his crown glimmering in the sun, and had to say he was mightily underwhelmed. It was true that she had a large enough army. He guessed that was somewhat impressive, a foreigner gaining so much support in the kingdom. But an army is only as strong as its leader and she did not seem strong at all. She was young, although probably older than him. But what he lacked in age, he made up in experience. He had lived this life since he was born; she was just a pretender. He wanted to show everyone that this was the case. That was the reason why he had Scorpions on top of every turret of the wall, all pointing directly at the opposing army.

   The large gates opened as a small figure left the safety of the city. Daenerys couldn’t make out who it was but they were unarmed, which was a positive sign. She looked up at Tommen, who she could tell was wearing the smug smile of someone who thought they could never lose. Tyrion knew who it was as Qyburn’s features became discernible. There was a palpable tension as he walked closer and the Imp, giving one last, brief look at his queen, started walking towards him. They did not rush. Whoever walked the fastest would seen the most keen. They would lose an edge in this political tussle. As they reached one another, they stopped for a moment before the maester spoke first.

   “My Lord,” he greeted, slightly bowing his head.. Tyrion didn't bother reciprocating the same pleasantries.

   “Queen Daenerys demands the immediate and unconditional surrender of King Tommen.” 

   “King Tommen demands the immediate and unconditional surrender of Queen Daenerys, otherwise he will be forced to strike.” This was never going to be easy.

   “Qyburn...you’re a rational man.” He hated giving him any form of compliment because he knew what he was capable of.

   “Or so I flatter myself, my Lord,” he returned with a smirk.

   “We have a chance here. Perhaps our last chance to avoid carnage.”

   “Yes,” he said without any indication that he wanted to avoid such carnage.

   “Help me. I don’t want to see this city burn. I don’t want to hear the screams of children burning alive.” Surely there was still a chance he could make the maester see sense.

   “No, it is not a pleasant sound.” Tyrion didn't want to dwell on how he knew what it sounded like. “Alas, I am just the mouthpiece of our King.”

   “Your King.”

   “Our King,” Qyburn repeated with an edge to his voice this time. “King Tommen rules over the Seven Kingdoms, which you are a part of. You are his subject.”

   “His reign is over,” Tyrion countered, trying a different approach. “You understand this. Help him understand this.”

   “We understand nothing of the sort. Your army is smaller than we were told. Your dragons are nonexistent and would not be able to get anywhere near the city walls.” Tyrion had had enough and marched past him. Daenerys tensed as he did so, seeing the archers lift their bows in unison, directing their weapons at the small man. Tyrion looked at his young nephew from afar, who had raised his hand in command. He waited for his decision.  _ He wouldn’t do it _ , Tyrion kept telling himself.  _ But he had changed. He was no longer the boy he knew _ . After a few seconds of contemplation, whilst Tyrion sent him a pleading look, Tommen dropped his hand and the archers relaxed, falling back into their previous position. Tyrion let out a sigh of relief.

   “I know you don’t care about your people,” he said to the king. “Why should you? They hate you and you hate them.” No reaction from Tommen. “You are not a monster. I know this. You are just a boy, who has been put in a position he was not ready for. You needed help that you never got, throughout your entire life. I beg you...your reign is over but that does not mean your life has to end. You can finally get the help and recognition you have been starved of since you were a babe. Just surrender the city and no one has to die.” He had done all he could. It was now or never. They waited for Tommen’s response, who took a moment to look Daenerys in the eye.

   “No.”

**********

   Maester Marwyn had been fascinated with the concept of wildfire ever since the hatching of Hidebyo in the Hightower of Old Town. He had wanted to examine the substance more closely so, with Bruda tagging along to be there for protection, he had visited the dragon on a number of occasions. The beast had been strangely receptive to his approaches, probably because he had been the one to be there when it came into the world. They had taken samples, studying its properties and how it compared to normal fire. It wasn’t a new substance of course but it was a rare opportunity to get so close to it. And it had given him an idea, which he had passed on to the warlock almost immediately. It had cunning and the added bonus of being unexpected, which would be beneficial in a war. Daenerys had been open to the idea and the council had set to work on how to implement it.

   That was why there were large glass bottles stacked underneath all of her ships that had sailed into Blackwater Bay, with a green substance floating around in all of them. They had just needed the Crown’s fleet to get close enough, which they thankfully had done without any invitation. It had worked almost too well. Stannis wanted to gloat in the face of Euron but knew it was just too soon for that. The plan had to be finished first. Euron grabbed him by the throat and spittle sprayed on his face as he talked.

   “What are you doing here?” he barked furiously. No response. “Why is no one here?” Nothing came out of his mouth again. Euron chucked him to the ground in frustration, unknowingly right next to one of those very canisters. Fate was on his side, it seemed. He’d been given a single match to keep in his pocket, which he now took out and lit by scraping it across one of the wooden panels. Euron looked at him strangely as he picked up the large bottle. 

   “How foolish of a fuck are you?” he asked as he threw the bottle in the air. It smashed on the deck, the fluid pouring out as Stannis dropped the match. As he did so, he began to run, jumping off the side of the ship as he set off the chain reaction. Green flames instantly engulfed the boat and both fleets were soon consumed by a world of wildfire, a massive explosion alerting everyone to what had happened.

**********

   The wall practically shook as the blast from the explosion hit, a strong wind toppling a few of the archers off the side of the wall. Tommen looked around, dazed. He saw Tyrion give a shrug of his shoulders as if to say he had been warned. If he had been able to see Daenerys’ face from that distance, he would have noticed the semblance of a smirk flicker on her face. She had given him every opportunity to run and now it was too late. Unless Bruda failed. But he wouldn’t. He hadn’t let her down so far during the time they had known each other. 

   A panic settled on the defenders of the city. Qyburn hurried back to the gates, slipping in quickly. Soldiers were hurrying away from their positions to see what had caused the explosion, leaving some areas dangerously undefended. The leader of the Kingsguard, who had been on top of the wall next to the king, wrapped his cloak around the young boy to hide and protect him. 

   “Get the King back to the Keep!” he ordered loudly, another soldier grabbing the arm of Tommen as they hurried away, Kevan following them promptly. They could all see black smoke from somewhere and soon it was evident that the bay had been hit. Tommen wanted to curse ever forming an alliance with that Euron. It seemed as though he were all bark and no bite. At least he still had the protection of the Scorpions.

**********

   Bruda’s eyes lit up as he saw the majority of soldiers head down in the direction of the bay, where the explosion had occurred. It had been their hope that, by making them feel there was no way anyone would be able to get into the city from the ground, they would pay less attention to guarding the inner workings of the capital. It was working a treat so far. He noticed Gendry looking around in confusion.

   “I’m guessing that was your lot?” he asked, finally realising how much preparation had gone into this attack. 

   “We sacrificed some ships to take down their fleet. They’ll be focused on that region of the area for a bit now as they try and fathom what happened. It will be chaos down there and the other thing we have on our side is that they’re cocky. They think their defences are impenetrable.” He gave him a sarcastic wave as he wiggled his fingers. “They haven’t met me. But come on, we need to act fast. Get ready to do some work.” They hurried across the street, everyone else too busy to see them, before reaching a locked gate that led to a staircase within the stone wall. Gendry was about to use his warhammer to smash it off but Bruda beat him to it, a simple flick of the wrist sending it crashing to the floor with a few golden sparks. The other man looked at him in wild fascination so he gave him a wink and began heading up the stairs. There were, thankfully, no soldiers within the wall but they slowed down as they reached the top of one of the turrets. The warlock poked his head out of the door and spotted a group of five guards surrounding the nearest Scorpion. He placed a hand on Gendry’s chest to stop him from charging out at that moment.

   “Now, we could do this tactically. Or go in, all guns blazing. All that I care about is that you get me an opportunity to work with that great big crossbow. I can’t afford too many distractions.” Gendry nodded his head, gripped his warhammer tightly and slowly stepped through the door. The first swing connected strongly with one of the soldier’s head, his helmet doing nothing to prevent the quick and bloody death he soon experienced. The sound of the body hitting the floor alerted the other guards, who drew their swords at the sight of their comrade. Gendry wasn’t as confident now when he saw how large they all were. Luckily for him, his weapon was much larger than theirs so he could block multiple attacks at a time. As one sword came towards him, he parried, crushing the hand that was holding it. The guard let out an anguished cry as his sword clattered to the ground, before deciding to charge at Gendry. Caught unawares, he was tackled and was shoved into the wall, sparing a moment to look at the great height they were fighting at, which didn't help at all. He kicked out at the man on top of him and, as he charged again, he moved out of the way just in time. He stook a leg out, tripping the soldier, sending him flying over the edge. Not wasting a moment, he picked up his hammer again, holding it with both hands as he blocked two simultaneous attacks. One guard came up behind but he used the end of it to hit him in the chest. Expecting the same result as last time, with the soldier heading for the edge, he didn't expect a hand to reach out and grab him. He was being pulled off as well until the hand was removed from its arm, a spray of blood filling the air and a scream heard briefly as the soldier fell down off the side. Gendry looked at Bruda, who had emerged from his hiding spot to help him. 

   The warlock hurried up to the Scorpion as Gendry took on the two remaining soldiers. These were the two largest men out of the group so he was having to hold on and simply defend his position instead of going on the attack. It was taking a lot of effort for him to fend them off as they tried to use brute force. He looked over at Bruda, who was messing around with the contraption as he tried to find what he was looking for. 

   “It would be a great help if you could hurry up!” Gendry shouted as he parried another swing of a sword. Bruda rolled his eyes and waved his hand, one of the soldiers falling over before the warhammer came crashing down on their face. He focused back on reaching into the centre of the Scorpion.

   “Just a moment! I need...to find...the main rod of metal,” he said as he stretched uncomfortably in his search. His eyes widened as he finally found it. “Ha! Got it!” He closed his eyes as he felt it, trying to ascertain what metal it was. “Now that’s interesting. Steel. But only found in these parts. Far too expensive to use in most stuff but they’ve splashed out because it’s so strong. Which helps to do this.” He turned the scorpion in the direction of the closest one on the next turret. Holding his hand on the metal, he closed his eyes again as a golden glow appeared. Then, the other scorpions began to glow in the same area. They could see guards in the distance move about in an alarmed fashion, not knowing what was happening. His face scrunched up in effort, Bruda clicked his fingers and the other scorpions began to turn to face one another. The guard Gendry was fighting let out a shout as he saw what he was doing, shoving the younger man to the floor as he raced over to Bruda. But it was too late. With a grin, the warlock let off the first Scorpion. The arrow shot out, firing into the next, causing it to fire as well. The cycle continued as every Scorpion began to shatter into shards of wood and metal, killing most soldiers who were near them. It was a satisfying thing to watch as the entire wall saw its defences crumble one after the other. 

**********

   On the ground, Tommen looked on in alarm and fear as he saw Scorpion upon Scorpion destroyed right in front of his eyes. He saw guards falling off the edge, meeting gruesome ends as they connected with the floor, but he hardly registered what was happening to them. He saw people, harmless civilians who should have been the ones punished instead of him, worriedly looking out of their homes as events unfolded, soldiers telling them to get back inside, which most did. But he didn't really process that side of things. His mind was focused on his downfall. The Scorpions were gone. The city was practically defenceless now against an aerial attack, which he reckoned was soon to come. He wouldn’t have been able to move if it wasn’t for the soldier shoving him in the general direction of the Red Keep. It didn't matter anymore. The Keep was an almost impenetrable defence but only when the enemy was on foot. Daenerys Targaryen would be able to just fly over the walls and burn it to the ground if she so wished, taking him with it. No. If he was going to lose...if he couldn’t have the kingdom...then she wouldn’t be able to have it either. He grabbed the arm of Kevan Lannister roughly, whose eyes were darting around to try and take in the destruction that had happened around them. 

   “My King?” he asked in worry.

   “They’re taking me to the Keep. You’re not to follow. I order you to head to the Great Sept.” Kevan’s face fell at the implications. “You know what our last resorts are. My mother had a plan in place if the day came when everything went wrong. Today is that day.”

   “You can’t possibly think that this is a viable option.”

   “Dare to question the king again and you will be the first to face her dragon on my behalf. Do as you are told.” There was a brief pause as he questioned the instruction before Kevan reluctantly nodded his head and began walking towards his final destination. This would be a dark day in the kingdom’s history.

   **********

   Daenerys’ army began to shout and cheer, as well as banging their weapons against shields, when they saw the Scorpions erupt into a world of splinters. Her council let out a collective sigh of relief at the sight, the major barrier to their victory being lifted. Daenerys didn't outwardly smile although, on the inside, she was brimming with happiness. Once again, her warlock had come to her aid and done what was thought impossible. He was due a reward for his services, which everyone would be getting once she was ruler. But she was not getting ahead of herself. There was still one very important thing to be done. She made eye contact with Jorah, who nodded his head, as if to say it was time for her to reach her destiny. 

   Multiple roars came from the sky and, this time, she allowed a smile to fill her face. Everything was going to plan. And now her dragons were here. They cast large shadows on the ground as they flew overhead. The phew soldiers still on the wall, recovering from any wounds they had suffered from the destruction, began to run away terrified at the sight of the beasts. Drogon was the first to land, in front of the army and council. The other three settled themselves on large areas of rock either side of the collective, letting out satisfied roars. Daenerys began to walk over to the main dragon, her smaller than usual council following close behind her. As she gently stroked the scales of Drogon, the men got off their horses to say their farewells, even if they knew they would be seeing her soon.

   “Don’t worry, your Grace,” Davos said, the tone and accent of his voice reassuring her. “We’ll have everything sorted down here. Just try not to take too long, will you? We’ve done all of this to avoid significant damage.”

   “You don’t have to remind me, Ser Davos,” she replied, sending him a warm smile. Tyrion then stepped towards her. He gestured to the sword by his side.

   “I seem to have been given a weapon by mistake. For some reason, they expect me to fight. It’s been quite a while since I did so. But I’ve managed to survive thus far,” he quipped, trying to add some levity to the situation.

   “I’m sorry it had to come to this.” His smirk dropped at the realisation of what was about to happen.

   “No, no. Do not apologise for what you have to do. I tried my best to convince him but, sadly, the Throne has poisoned the mind of a sweet, innocent boy. As it has to so many others.” Her smile was the one to drop this time as she thought about his words. Would she become another victim of its persuasion? She pushed that to the back of her mind as she looked at Jorah, her trustful knight, who she swore had never looked at her with so much warmth and pride. She wasn’t going to comment on the tears that seemed to be welling up in his eyes, mainly because she could feel the same thing happening to her.

   “You could come with me,” she offered.

   “No. I need to make sure everything goes to plan here on the ground. And this is your moment. You have worked so hard to get here.” She nodded her head. “Be the queen you were always meant to be.” Another nod and she climbed onto the back of Drogon. With one last look and a roar from the dragon, they took off into the air. What they weren’t expecting was Drogon letting out a breath of fire towards the wall, destroying the part where the large doors had once been. They were, after all, going to have to fight the oncoming army.

   “So much for no significant damage,” Davos sighed, as they got back on their horses and drew their swords.

**********

   Kevan Lannister nervously walked into the Great Sept of Baelor, entering through its large doors. Walking inside, the difference in noise levels within compared to the chaos that was happening outside was deeply unsettling. It just exemplified how disconnected the Faith had become from the local society. He told himself that that didn't matter anymore, or it wouldn’t matter in a few moments to be precise. His hands shook as the thought of what he was about to do. His allegiance to the Crown and King was paramount, of course. But wasn’t it his duty as a human to protect others when the person who was meant to watch over them was willing to let them die? Wasn’t that why he had become involved in this stupid, petty game? To help others? Or was he just lying to himself? He feared that it was the latter.

   He found the High Sparrow standing in front of one of the large statues that represented the gods of the Faith, his eyes closed in contemplation. As Kevan approached, his footsteps echoing across the strangely empty room, he opened his eyes and looked upon the dishevelled visitor. He had been able to hear the beginnings of the disaster outside but wasn’t too sure what was going on. From the look of his expression, it wasn’t anything positive for them.

   “What is the meaning of your visit?” he asked his fellow council member. None of the others, apart from the king, had recently entered the Sept. Not many people did.

   “Daenerys Targaryen and her army have arrived. The city defences have fallen and our forces are scattered across the region due to an earlier attack.”

   “It seems that King Tommen’s reign has reached its inevitable gruesome end.”

   “You never had faith in the boy? Why would you support him if you felt this way?” Kevan asked accusingly.

   “He was the king. It is not, and never will be, my duty to determine whether they are fit for their job. That is for the men of politics. My role is to look out for the people.”

   “Then you will be remembered for your failure.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “The king knows that the city is sure to fall. The Targaryen girl is joined by her dragons, meaning she cannot be stopped from reaching the Keep. But the king is not willing to be the only loser today.” The Sparrow’s face fell.

   “You can’t mean…”

   “He knows about the preparations put in place by the last Targaryen king, the ones further developed by his mother. He has ordered for me to carry out my duty...and destroy the city. So that Daenerys Targaryen will never be queen.”

   “I can’t possibly let you do that,” the Sparrow said, standing in front of him.

   “It is not down to you. It is not down to me. The king has spoken and we must follow his orders.”

   “Innocent people will die! If he is bound to lose, then why still support him?”

   “Remove yourself from here and you might yet survive.”

   “You avoid the question. You know that I speak the truth. Please...see sense.” Kevan drew his sword, pointing it directly at the older man, who balked at the action. He couldn’t kill him. It didn't sit well with him. Instead he turned his sword and hit the Sparrow hard on the side of his head with the blunt end, knocking him to the ground, as he walked deeper into the Sept where the stores were.

**********

   Jorah’s sword clashed with a kingsguard’s weapon as he took on another opponent in the streets of King’s Landing. As soon as the wall had tumbled, the city’s army had quickly descended upon them but, with the addition of the Golden Company, they outnumbered them greatly. It wasn’t about gaining a military victory now; this was all to stall the soldiers whilst Daenerys dealt with Tommen, which was why, when he shoved the other man to the ground with his brute force, he simply knocked him out instead of killing him. Some of the soldiers had asked why they were not deploying the dragons, who were waiting outside the capital’s boundaries. Davos had been forced to explain, whilst taking on an opponent clad in gold armour, that their plan was to minimise the number of casualties, mainly focused on not killing any civilians. Most of them were still in the homes, fearfully watching as the battle surged through the streets. The issue was that some of the archers that were still alive were using flaming arrows to cause more damage, which was making the homes vulnerable.

   Davos watched in horror as one such arrow connected with some poorly placed straw outside one of the buildings, spreading fire dangerously quick towards it. Parrying an attack, he ran towards the building as he wanted to help any of the people stuck inside, even though being on the streets would be just as dangerous. Just before he reached there tough, delayed by yet another attack, a large spurt of water came over him, dousing the fire before it properly reached the house. He and Jorah looked in the direction of where it had come from and saw Bruda standing behind Gendry as he used his warhammer to defend the warlock. He made eye contact with Jorah and shouted towards him.

   “Staff!” His eyes widened as he realised it was still on his horse, which he had left outside the city walls once he had met the enemy head on. Nodding his head, he began charging back to the remnants of the doors to get the warlock’s staff. Bruda’s presence was a major plus in the battle since he would be able to deal with enemies without killing them. But they desperately needed Daenerys to act fast.

**********

   Kevan stepped down the stairs, ignoring the cobwebs that lined the stone walls, as he prepared himself. He had to support himself by placing his hand tightly on the handrail as he descended. The door that housed the cause of destruction was unambiguous. If he hadn’t have known where to come, he would have walked past it like he had done with every other door behind it. But, now that he knew what it contained behind it, it seemed to glow in front of him, his feet almost being dragged towards it against his will.  _ This was for the king _ , he told himself.  _ Any other self sacrificing council member would do the same, _ his mind kept repeating. His hand reached out, turning the door knob and then he was inside. He looked on in astonishment at all the jars stacked on shelves, waiting to be unleashed. It was if they were whispering to him, trying to persuade him to do it. Trying to push him over the edge. He felt any last resolve he had slowly melt away as he gave into the voices. No wonder they called it wildfire. It had a life of its own that only the strongest wills could defeat. He had never been a resilient man. 

_ Go on. Do it. Do as you’re ordered.  _

_    All it takes is one match and then...poof. You will have saved the kingdom from the terror of another Targaryen.  _

_    See...this is the only option. The right option. You will be remembered as a hero. That’s all you ever wanted, isn’t it? _

_    Do it. _

   It didn't take long to set the whole thing up. A thin piece of rope. Flammable fluid. It had all been put in place beforehand, just in case the time came when the deed had to be done in an instant. His hand hovered for a moment as he held the match. One action would surely change the kingdom forever. 

   “No!” He hadn’t done a good enough job in knocking out the High Sparrow it seemed, as he stood at the top of the stairs with a helpless expression on his face. “Do not condemn the people of this city for the selfish needs of a young brat.” Regardless, Kevan lit the match. The Sparrow’s eyes widened and he raced down the stairs. He tried to wrestle the match away from the other man and the two of them struggled for a moment but Kevan had the upper hand and dropped the lit match to the ground. They both stared at it as the fire spread quickly towards the jars. The spell broke on Kevan as he realised what he had just done. They tried to scramble away but it was too late. Their worlds were filled with the green flames of wildfire.

**********

   Bruda, now reunited with his staff after Jorah had found it, pushed back one attacker and took the momentary reprieve to catch his breath. Amidst all the chaos, with them taking a few hits in their efforts not to kill anyone, he could feel that something was wrong. He raced over to a narrow alleyway, away from the fighting, and closed his eyes as he tried to concentrate. He could feel something building up. Something unnatural but something that he had come into contact with before. It couldn’t be…

   Charging back into the battle, sending a member of the Kingsguard flying into a wooden cart that held goods to be sold, he looked past the rubble of where the wall had been. From a distance, he could see Hidebyo moving around in an agitated fashion, shaking his head and flapping his wings, which seemed to mean that he could sense the same thing. The dragon then took off in flight, heading towards where they were fighting. Archers pointlessly fired their weapons at the beast but they ricocheted off harmlessly, not deterring him in the slightest.

   “Who caused that?” Davos shouted as people began to notice the presence of the orange animal. He kicked away a soldier as he looked around in anger. “We said no dragons!” Another kick and a swing of his sword. “Surely that is a simple enough instruction for you all to follow!” Tyrion, who had somehow managed to survive the carnage so far, made eye contact with the warlock and noted his serious and troubled expression. Instinctively, he placed his hand on the ground and felt a slight rumble coming from underneath. His eyes widened and his reaction told Bruda that his assumptions had been right. Panicking slightly, he looked around at all of their soldiers crammed into the main street. It would be impossible for them to run now. This large a group wouldn’t be able to get through the hole in the wall. He also didn't know where the threat was coming from so wouldn’t be able to conjure up a large enough or strong enough force of magic to stop it. 

   “Everybody!” he bellowed, his voice magically made louder. Most of the soldiers stopped at the interruption. He would have been proud if the situation hadn’t been so dire. “Get to the ground now!” He ran over to Tyrion and Davos, Jorah following them, as he shoved them into the alley, placing his staff on the ground to be able to counter whatever it was that was about to happen. Both sides, confused by his words, followed suit, dropping to the floor and hiding under any protection they could find. That was just before the top of the Great Sept erupted in green flames, sending large pieces of rubble firing towards them. One soldier ran over to where they were cowering but was crushed by a particularly large piece of stone. Yet, before the wildfire could properly spread, Hidebyo dived towards the building, unfurling his wings to make himself larger. Born from the same substance, he was able to absorb the deadly flames before they could cause too much damage. He let out a loud cry as he collided with the demolished sept, landing with a heavy thud that sent a large cloud of ash surging through the streets. As the cloud slowly dispersed, those who had managed to avoid the debris got to their feet shakily. They looked around in confusion and then stared at the area where the Great Sept of Baelor had been. Bruda hurriedly walked over to the scene to take it all in, his comrades following him. He put a hand to his mouth as he saw the dragon slumped on the floor, unmoving.

   “He could tell what was about to happen,” the warlock said in a raspy whisper. “I doubt that the wildfire caused too much damage. It would have been the collis…” But then a wing slowly moved and Hidebyo’s head appeared from underneath a pile of rocks. He let out a mighty roar as Rhaegal and Viserion joined them, swooping overhead. They looked around, dumbstruck, unable to fathom how the dragon had survived. The warlock reckoned it was something to do with the type of fire he had been born from. He had been perfectly suited to save them, as if his existence had been for that moment. Bruda wanted to laugh but then realised they were still in a battle. The four of them turned around and came face to face with the kingsguard. About to draw their weapons, they stopped as the leader dropped his sword to the ground, the other soldiers tentatively doing the same.

   “That...creature saved us all. Our king tried to kill us whilst your Queen’s beast saved us. We cannot fight you in good conscience now.”

**********

   Unaware of the potential disaster that had just been averted, Daenerys continued to cling onto Drogon. The dragon was now scaling up the Red Keep, his claws scraping off the stone as he climbed higher. As she spotted through the window her goal, she ordered the beast to let loose, which he did, breathing a torrent of fire to destroy the wall. She kept herself from looking down as stone tumbled to the ground, damaging the lower rooftops below. She calmly stepped off Drogon’s neck and was finally in the throne room. She had dreamt of this moment. She had experienced visions of this finally happening. She had never envisaged a young boy to be sat on the very throne she so desired. Tommen, still wearing his crown, had been waiting for her arrival. He had sent away all of his soldiers, knowing that, even if she got here, which was an inevitability, it would be for naught. The city was about to be destroyed. He wanted to see her face as it happened around them.

   “Am I in your way?” he innocently asked as he twiddled with the goblet in his hand. He was slouching in the throne, mocking her. He would be the last one to sit upon it.

   “Are we really going to play this game?” she retorted with little patience.

   “Why not? Why should I make this easy for you?” 

   “Because I have won. The city has fallen. We don’t want thousands of casualties. You could do the honourable thing and die a king you would have been proud to be.” Tommen let out a mirthless chuckle.

   “Do you really think this was about winning? You haven’t won. No one can win. Not in this game.”

   “And yet I have.”

   “No! No, you have not!” he shouted, taking her by surprise. “You’re the Dragon Queen. So it is apt that you shall see this world burn because of you.” A low rumble filled the room from a far off explosion. Daenerys turned around to look out the hole Drogon had made. She saw the Sept explode in front of her, her heart dropping as she thought of her men down there in the streets. “Any moment now...we will die together. This is as close as you will get.” Unlike Daenerys, Tommen didn't see Hidebyo’s heroics, stopping the destruction before it happened. She began to smirk. When the flames still hadn’t reached them, Tommen began to worry. Daenerys turned around again to face him, enjoying the helpless look on his face.

   “It seems that your last ditch plan didn't work.” Tommen took a sip from his glass, trying not to show the panic welling up inside him. He was failing. “You were willing to sacrifice all their lives to stop me. Your uncle told me stories about you from when you were younger. He talked about your innocence, your kindness…” She thought back to Tyrion’s parting message. The power of the throne consumes and corrupts anyone who sits upon it. “Your mind has been poisoned by the position you are in.”

   “Do you expect me to give it up? Come any closer and I will kill you. I’m a man after all. You wouldn’t stand a chance. And if I don’t move from this seat, you cannot have it.”

   “That won’t be a problem. I wanted to break the wheel. It appears that the seat you reside on is the cause of that still spinning. You wanted to end everything in a world of pain and fire. I grant you your wish. Dracarys.” She saw his eyes widen briefly as he dropped the goblet. Drogon’s head reappeared, blocking out the sun and casting a haunting shadow behind his opponent. The dragon opened his mouth and fire burst out from it, going straight towards Tommen and the throne. Daenerys stood there, not hurt by the flames as she watched the boy king scream in agony before he finally gave in to death. Where he had sat, there was nothing but a pile of ash. She began to smile as she saw that the fire had done its intended job. The Iron Throne was no more.


	46. Survival and Insurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys' victorious celebrations are cut short

Daenerys walked ever so slowly towards where the Iron Throne had been. She was still covered by her clothes, despite the onslaught of dragon fire. She had Bruda to thank for that, as usual. He had told her about a charm he had placed on her black dress that made it resistant to the substance. Although he had then advised her not to purposefully stand in the way of fire, just to be on the safe side. She mentally chose not to tell him about that side of her victory. Because that is what is was. A victory.  _ Her _ victory. She had travelled from the far off lands in the East, been derailed by rebellious citizens in Meereen, chosen to battle against Death itself. All to get to this moment. After all those delays and problems, she had begun to think that it would never happen. But she had to believe it now. The ruins were in front of her. There was a hole in the wall just behind the melted carcass of the Throne, a beam of sunlight streaming through, illuminating what she had just accomplished. She heard Drogon fly off behind her; his presence would understandably inform everyone that she had overcome the now dead king. She expected to hear the noise of the bells ringing any moment, signalling the city’s surrender. Although she didn't know yet what had happened on the ground, the worry still inside her that one of her council members had fallen in the final push to earn her her place on the seat of power, she was proud that they had managed to take the city with minimal civilian casualties. There had been a brief time, after Tommen had ordered the attack on her ancestral home at Dragonstone and she had not known the fate of the people she cared for, when she had contemplated simply flying over to King’s Landing and razing it to the floor, regardless of the cost. He would have deserved it. He would have brought it upon himself. That was the reasoning behind her fury and temptation. She had even given into that side of her character, the trait that seemed to infect all members of the Targaryen family. The rubble that was once the Twins, where Walder Frey had perished in the flames of Drogon, lay testament to that. But then she had arrived at Winterfell and realised that Jorah and Bruda were still alive. That fury had melted away somewhat. She still had that hunger and strive for power but she was no longer blinded by that passion. In a sense, their survival had ensured the survival of everyone in the capital. She couldn’t put into words how thankful she was of the fact that they had saved her too in the process. 

   She reached the Throne and placed a hand on one of the few hilts of a sword that still remained. It was hot to the touch as she grasped it like a long dead soldier must have done centuries ago. It made her think of the stories her brother had told her when he wasn’t too busy insulting or abusing her. He would wax lyrical about how high the Throne was and how, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how long you spent, you would never be able to count the number of swords that had been melted down to forge the seat. As a child, she had envisaged it like a mountain and had dreamt of being the first person to reach its summit. Now, it was nothing more than a mound. It wouldn’t take very long to count the swords now as well. The only difficulty would be in trying to determine what pieces of the mess were blades. She had once had a vision about this moment. She had been in this very room, alone with the throne. What concerned her was the abundance of ash that surrounded her, a thought that had fuelled her worries of succumbing to that dark side of her character. But now it all made sense as she looked upon the small pile of ash that had been the young man who had faced her in his final moments. She was never destined to burn the city, not with the support of her council. It was destiny to burn the Throne and everything it stood for, she realised as she watched the ash get picked up by the wind that flowed through the two gaping holes either side of her. As she observed the last remnants of her predecessor disappear, she spotted a figure waiting by the door. She couldn’t make out who it was since they were hidden by the dark shadows in the corner. But, as she stepped closer, leaving the throne, she realised who it was and let out a sigh of relief. 

   Stannis walked into the centre of the room and she let out a gasp at his appearance. One side of his face had a horrible burn that was blistering. She could only sympathise with how much pain he must have been going through. She stepped closer to him but stopped herself from reaching out and touching the wound, knowing how it would have made it worse.

   “My Lord,” she said. “What happened? Are you okay?”

   “I knew the risks when I offered to lead the fleet,” he responded. It stung to talk but he continued through gritted teeth. “I was one of the lucky ones. I managed to get off the ship just as the wildfire took hold but it still got me.”

   “I commend you for your service. Without you and your men, I wouldn’t have been able to do this with so little damage.” He observed the room, taking in its demolished state, and wondered what her definition of damage was. “You will be suitably rewarded for your efforts, more than just Storm’s End.”

   “I thank you, my Queen. I knew you would be here when I saw that great beast outside. Its arrival seems to have scared off most of the soldiers in this place, which was why it was so easy for me to get here.” Her face scrunched up at that comment.

   “I must ask...why did you see fit to come here? The battle must have been taking place down there. I don’t know how you avoided it.” He began to smirk, a disturbing sight when it was compounded with the burns on his face. Most of his teeth were now black and she prevented herself from gagging. She took a few steps back away from him, bumping into some of the melted metal.

   “Isn’t it obvious. You said I should be rewarded. I’ve come for what I deserve.”

**********

   Down on the streets of King’s Landing, the cleaning up process had already begun. After the surrender of the Kingsguard, the fighting had instantly stopped and attention had turned to treating any people who had been injured in the brief but hectic battle. Bruda was crouched down next to such a person, one of the opposing soldiers who had a serious gash running down his leg that was likely to become infected if he didn't deal with it promptly. He had taken some cloth from a stall that had been destroyed in the fight and was now using it to wrap it around the leg, applying sufficient pressure. The soldier grimaced as the wound stung even more.

   “Oh come on,” the warlock muttered with little sympathy. “It’s barely a scratch.” He received an angry look in response and his expression softened. “Fine. Close your eyes. Oh, and bite down on this.” He handed him a stick of wood and his patient reluctantly did as he was told. Now that he wasn’t looking, Bruda felt safer in healing the injury with his magic. A golden glow began to blossom from his hand, sending a gentle warmth over the soldier’s leg before the bleeding stopped and the other man opened his eyes. He was about to ask what he had done when Bruda put a finger on his lips. “Hush. Don’t go questioning what happened. Just accept it and toddle off. Go help anyone else in trouble. And be careful...you’re going to have a scar and I don’t want to have to treat you again.” With a satisfied sigh, Bruda stood up from his crouching position and surveyed the scene. Despite what had just occurred, there was a general feeling of happiness in the streets. Some of the residents had even felt safe enough to come outside, lending supplies that would be useful to help the injured or make the dying more comfortable. That was the only issue facing them at the moment. He spotted Davos helping another soldier up and walked over to him. The smuggler smiled at him as he approached.

   “We actually did it,” he said, a hint of surprise in his tone.

   “Hmm. It seems so.”

   “You don’t appear too happy with that.”

   “It’s not that. How many casualties are we looking at?”

   “On our side...no more than one-fifty. The Kingsguard didn't have the space to properly attack us once we were in the streets.”

   “Civilians?” Davos grimaced at the question.

   “Unknown. The explosion has understandably caused quite a bit of significant damage in that area. The buildings nearest to the Sept hardly stood a chance. It will be a while until we get to them anyway and see if there are any survivors inside.”

   “Make sure the message gets across that that’s the main priority now. We’ve got plenty of men just wandering out, looking for something to do.” Bruda sighed as he rubbed his face, running his fingers through his beard. When he looked at the hairs, he could swear he was definitely more gray than he had ever been. “It could have been worse, I guess. Daenerys won’t be happy though still.”

   “Queen Daenerys knew the price that victory came with.” They both turned around to see Tyrion hobbling over to them. The top and left side of his face was covered in blood and he had a few fresh scars to match the ones he had got in the Battle of Blackwater. They noticed he was favouring his left leg slightly.

   “Merciful gods...Tyrion! What happened to you?” Davos asked, taking in the sorry state the imp was in.

   “Have you not noticed? We were in a battle,” he responded through a wince. Davos scowled at his sarcasm. “I’m fine. Truly. I bet my father would actually be proud if he could see me now. His son surviving two battles against the odds. Undefeated. Well...if he could feel anything other than hate and disappointment towards me.”

   “I’m glad you’re okay, Lannister,” Bruda said. “She’s going to be relying on you quite a bit in the coming months. To steady the ship and all that.”

   “For once, I should show some humility. I’m not as important as you to her. We wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for your actions. You had the most difficult task, after all.”

   “I must challenge that. The man who had the most difficult job was the one who had to put up with me. Someone I bet you’d like to see, Davos.” Gendry was leaning against a stone wall, trying to clean some of the blood on his warhammer. When Bruda beckoned him over, he tentatively followed the direction. Davos stepped forward and shook the young man’s hand.

   “Gendry. It is good to see you. I didn't know whether he’d find you. Thought you might still be rowing.” Gendry let out a small laugh at the comment.

   “I kept my head down once I got here. Just like you told me to.”

   “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Was he where I thought he would be?” he asked the eavesdropping warlock.

   “Oh yes. The street of steel. Looked like he’d been busy but he instantly dropped everything to come with me. I doubt it was all down to my charm and charisma.”

   “I’ve been waiting. I never knew what for but I knew that something would come up one day. Did you think I was happy, making weapons for the family that killed my father? No. Every swing of the hammer, I was thinking about the escape. I prepared myself. And then he turned up and I just...knew it was that moment.”

   “You don’t have to go back, you know,” Davos pointed out. “The Queen owes you a large debt of gratitude for what you’ve done for her. You could finally be comfortable after all these years.”

   “It’s never been about comfort. I want that excitement again.” Davos looked at Bruda and Tyrion.

   “Well, I’ll be sure to speak to the new queen and put my recommendation forward. We could do with men like you in the council. She doesn’t just want it to be made up of lords, as you can tell by looking at us.” Gendry was about to accept the proposition when a loud roar came from the sky. They looked up to see Drogon flying from the Red Keep, which meant only one thing. Spotting Jorah in the crowd, who was also looking up in the same direction, Bruda shouted over to him. 

   “What are you waiting for Mormont? We’ve got a queen to crown.”

**********

   “I don’t know what you mean,” Daenerys said as Stannis paced in an arc in front of her. She was all alone with this man. He’d already told her that there were no soldiers remaining in the Keep. She wondered if he had lied about that too; had he killed on his way to get to her? Her protectors were far down below in the city, too far away to get to her in time to stop him in whatever he was planning. They might already be on their way or still oblivious to her momentary victory. It didn't matter either way. Drogon, the one thing that had protected her against Tommen, was now gone too. Stannis had planned all of this and it had worked. Nothing was standing in his way from removing her and claiming the Throne as his own, even if it was a pile of molten iron at the moment. She had worked so hard to get here and it was going to be taken away from her the instant she claimed it. Hadn’t her vision foretold this to happen? She had woken up from the dream just after she touched the throne. Maybe it was her destiny to fall short.

   “Ha! Of course you know what I mean. My brother was king. His children weren’t his so I was the rightful heir. I fought numerous battles in the pursuit of what was owed to me whilst you pretended to be a princess in some foreign land.”

   “You’re forgetting that your brother stole the Throne from my father so my claim is stronger than yours. I am willing to forgive your transgressions if you stop this foolishness at once.”

   “You’re missing the point. Your father lost the kingdom. Meaning your family was forsaken of ever having it back. That’s how the system works. You can dream about having the perfect world you thought this would be but you have not been paying attention since you got here.” Daenerys gulped and thought of other approaches she could take in this argument. It was all about stalling him now, in the hope that someone would come to her rescue. Jorah swore to protect her. Bruda had never let her down before. They wouldn’t fail her now.

   “You submitted yourself to me back at Winterfell. You swore an oath. Everyone saw. Do you think they would follow a king who broke the most vital of promises?”

   “Do you really think that matters to them? They’ll blindly follow where the money is. These people only think about themselves. All they strive for is to better their position. When I’m king, I’ll be the only one who can make that possible for them.”

   “My men are not like that. They are loyal and have stood by my side through everything I have been through.”

   “You really are naive. They’re playing the game. They’ve always been playing you because it was easy. I even managed to do it in the end. They won’t mourn you when I’m gone. They’ll turn to the next one in line. Just look at Seaworth - he was my Hand but then saw you as the better option and abandoned me. That had nothing to do with him believing in you.” His words were beginning to sting and she had to grip a piece of metal to steady herself as Stannis slowly closed in like an animal hunting its prey. She was beginning to worry that they had been involved in his plan too. She was over analysing every conversation she could remember taking place with them, trying to see if she could find any hints that that was true. She wouldn’t believe it. Jorah would never do that to her. He loved her. Cherished her. Or had that just been his way of securing his place. The lonely young woman falling for the caring, handsome man. Why had Bruda appeared out of thin air to support her? Did he want a taste of the lavish life as well? She was trying to stop these thoughts from consuming her. Stannis smirked as he saw the effect his words were having on her.

   “You won’t kill me,” she spat out. “You are too much of a coward.”

   “Now, now. We are really clutching at straws there. Have you ever seen any evidence to support that theory? Destroying the Bolton name from history without a second glance so that they would no longer be able to challenge me? What about killing my own brother because he dared to think of taking power away from me? I don’t think killing one woman will weigh too heavily on my conscience. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

   “How long have you been planning this?”

   “After we defeated the White Walkers. You are the one who gave me the opportunity to accomplish all of this. I hope you realise that. You wanted to trust me so refused to listen to your council’s advice. You brought me into your company because you needed me. You wanted to show the kingdom that you were willing to work with the noble houses. So you told me all your plans, asked me for any suggestions. Why do you think I suggested risking my life on that ship? To help your cause? No. Because I knew I would get off before it blew, giving me the freedom of the city to get here while everyone else fought in the streets. I want you to know, before you die, that this was all your doing.”

   “They’ll kill you, you know. You might kill me. You might sit on the Throne, or whatever you may call it now, for a few moments. But Ser Jorah, Bruda, even Davos...they will not stop until they have struck you done.”

   “The funniest thing is that you actually believe that nonsense. Once I’m king, my men will seize them and they’ll never see the light of day again. It’ll be easy since my soldiers make up the bulk of the army right now, since you left yours behind. Wasn’t that one of my ideas too?” He grinned as he took out a dagger from his coat pocket. “Now...I’m tired of talking. I know you’d prefer to wait longer in the hope your dashing knight will save you. I knew that was what you were doing, by the way. I’ve been one step ahead of you this whole time.” There was nowhere for her to run. She was backed up against the remnants of the throne. She was going to die on the one thing she wanted. He plunged the dagger towards her, aiming for the chest.

   But his arm stopped. He looked down at it in confusion, as she did. His arm was beginning to shake and he tried to grip the dagger tighter so he wouldn’t drop it. He gritted his teeth through the pain coursing through his arm. He had no idea what was going on. He wouldn’t let go of the weapon. He tried pushing it towards her again but ended up with the same result. He looked at her in anger.

   “What have you done to me?”

   “No...nothing,” she choked out, as clueless as he was. The pain was becoming worse and, eventually, he dropped the dagger. He stumbled backwards. The pain wasn’t stopping. He opened his hand up to look at his palm and saw the imprint of the hilt burnt into his skin. The fresh scar began to glow as he traced it with his finger, a familiar golden and blue colour. The energy grew brighter before it covered his arm, making him cry out and drop to the floor on his knees. He took one last look at her, Daenerys still standing in the same position in fear, before a torrent of energy surrounded him, spinning around like a small whirlwind. He could no longer see past it as it picked up speed. His vision went blurry as he screamed out in pain and rage. It was burning him alive. He tried to move but to no avail. Daenerys watched as his skin began to flake away, making her cover her mouth in horror at the sight. With one last shout, his body crumpled. The energy stopped and Daenerys was left alone in the room once more, looking at a pile of steaming bones.

**********

   Jorah was the first to enter the decimated throne room, quickly followed by Bruda and Davos. He ran over to Daenerys as soon as he saw her, her hand still covering her mouth in disgust at what she had just seen. The warlock stopped as he soon as he entered, a grim look on his face as he took in their surroundings, noting the destruction and, more importantly, the remains on the floor. Davos walked around the room in amazement, carefully looking out of one of the holes, while still holding onto the wall, to see the city down below. Jorah directed her head with his hand so that she was looking at him, fear still clearly evident in her eyes.

   “What happened?” he asked, the obvious question to put forward. She had to keep telling herself that she was alright now. Daenerys had been so convinced that she was about to die that she had lost all hope that she would see her love again. But, here he was, cradling her protectively as he waited for her answer. The other two men were also listening, although neither had stepped any closer.

   “Drogon destroyed the Throne,” she answered. “I wanted him to. It needed to be destroyed so that we can move on.”

   “That’s not what has concerned you though. Where’s Tommen? What happened to him?” He already knew but he wanted confirmation.

   “He was sat on the Throne when I ordered Drogon to attack. I gave him one last chance to surrender but he kept saying that we were going to lose together.”

   “Tommen had decided to take the city with him if he was going to fall,” Bruda said from his corner of the room, speaking for the first time and reminding Daenerys that the others were there too. “He tried to use wildfire.”

   “I saw from up here. Is Hidebyo...is he still alive?” Although he wasn’t necessarily her dragon, she couldn’t stand one of those beautiful creatures perishing in her name.

   “Just. Some nasty injuries by the looks of things when he impacted with the sept. He should be fine.” She smiled slightly at that, some reassurances at last.

   “I feel like we’re getting off track,” Davos interrupted with his usual bluntness. “So is that Tommen then?” he asked as he pointed to the pile of bones on the floor.

   “No. That’s what’s left of Stannis Baratheon.” Jorah and Davos’ eyes widened at her answer, although she noted that Bruda didn't look remotely surprised. “He arrived just after Tommen died. At first, I wasn’t worried but then he made it clear he was there to take what was his.” They all knew what that meant.

   “So you told your dragon to burn him to a crisp,” Davos put forward hopefully.

   “Drogon had already left to inform you that the plan had worked. I was all alone. He wanted to kill me. He tried to.” Jorah looked over her body, checking for wounds, but she stopped him as she continued. “But he couldn’t.”

   “A change of conscience at the last minute,” Jorah suggested.

   “No. He physically couldn’t. His arm wouldn’t move and then this...force took ahold of him.” She looked over at Bruda, who still hadn’t moved.

   “That will have been me,” he answered her unspoken question. “Back at Winterfell...when he made all those promises to you. I took matters into my own hands and basically bound him with a magical contract. If he never broke his vow, he would never have known I’d done anything to him. But, because he did...you can see what happened. I’m sorry it was so gruesome. I was probably a bit too forceful. But just ask Melisandre. She was the only one there who saw me do it.” Daenerys moved away from Jorah and walked over to the older man. 

   “You went behind my back. You cursed a man I had felt necessary to trust and you didn't even tell me!”

   “It was insurance,” he responded defiantly.

   “It was...the only reason I am still standing here,” she said, a smirk growing on her face as he realised she had been messing with him. She had become too good at that, he realised, over their time together. 

   “You had me worried there for a second,” Bruda admitted as she enveloped him a grateful hug, not seeing the helpless expression he was sending to the other men.

   “Once again, I am forever in your debt. You saved me. Just like the other times. As you all have.” She turned to look at Jorah and Davos, who bowed their heads, not wanting to accept her praises. “And now I can reward you however I deem fit. Because I am, as I was always destined to be, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

   “Congratulations...your Majesty,” Davos said with a sly wink.

   “We always knew it would work out in the end,” Bruda sighed. “You’re too bloody stubborn to give up.”

   “I would have. If it wasn’t for the efforts of my advisors.”

   “This is all you,” Jorah said with a serious tone. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn't believe in you. You’re the reason we have fought on numerous occasions. Because we know you are the ruler all those people need.” He pointed out towards where the hole was, the city now coming back to life as people came out of their homes after the battle. “And we’re not done yet. There are bound to be many more battles to come.”

   “Just more wars of words,” Bruda added. Daenerys smiled, trying to accept that she had finally done it. 

   “But your first port of call has got to be to sort this mess out,” Davos said, gesturing to the room they were in. Daenerys laughed and then shrugged her shoulders.

   “Well, thankfully, I have a very handy and dedicated warlock who can sort all of this out in no time. Isn’t that right?” They turned to Bruda, who was now wearing a disgruntled expression.

   “Sure, sure. Win her the throne, after infiltrating the most heavily guarded city in the kingdom. All this, after I helped defeat an undead foe, dying in the process! No, I don’t deserve one small break. Not at all.” The other three laughed, Daenerys kissing him on the cheek, as they walked out, leaving Bruda standing in the room. He cracked his knuckles, stretched his arms with a loud groan, kicked a stray piece of stone away, and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A theme that has run through this story has been how isolating yourself leads to your downfall. We saw this with Roose Bolton early on, who sacrificed everything and still died. Tommen fell victim too, in the end dying with no loved ones because he felt he was better than them. Then Stannis ends up with the same fate, treating his advisors so poorly that they desert him and he is left to chase his destiny alone, ultimately failing. If you learn one thing from this story, make sure it is that we are stronger when we work together, as Daenerys shows. She has a happier fate than in the show because she does not lose those closest to her. I hope you enjoyed the update. Please comment down below with any thoughts and feedback. I'm thinking you all deserve one last chapter...


	47. Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys is now queen after all this time, which is always cause for celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally reached this point. The story has reached its end. It has been an absolute joy to write about these wonderful characters and to introduce you to Bruda as my creation. I hope you enjoy the final chapter and I hope you have enjoyed the story as a whole. What have your favourite moments been? Comment down below one last time. Let's see if we can get the most comments on the ending. Maybe if more people find my small contribution to this amazing world, we will see Bruda return one day...

 The people of King’s Landing had not known such a positive feeling was possible after Daenerys was crowned the new queen of the Seven Kingdom. After the torrid years of the Lannisters, in which so many people had died, either in war or because of neglect from the most powerful, it seemed that times were changing. Of course, many people still harboured ill feelings towards the new queen because of her family name. Even though most of the public had not been alive during the time of her father’s disastrous and tumultuous reign, the stories of his downfall had always been a cornerstone of the society’s culture. She had quickly realised that this was her most immediate issue to solve. The first speech she made to her citizens included her vowing to change this perception. It would involve her actually interacting with the people, not just in King’s Landing, but also across the kingdom to spread the message of what she was accomplishing and hopefully forge new and stronger alliances. She was still not looking forward to travelling back to the North after Sansa’s words the last time they had seen each other. But she could put that to the back of her mind for the time being.

   One of the easier tasks she had should have been deciding who would be on her Small Council. However, a number of lords and ladies from houses far and wide had visited the capital under the pretence of wishing the new ruler good fortune and passing on luxurious gift after luxurious gift. She had greeted them with a warm smile and accepted their gifts as politely as one could expect. But then they would always add unasked advice into relatively benign conversations, hinting that their families had always been a part of the hierarchy and it would prove to be beneficial to keep it that way. The conversations would usually end shortly afterwards and she would spend the nights moaning to Jorah about their presumptiveness as a result. He was constantly forced to explain that was all part of the job she had strived for. He would tell her that she just had to accept it and how, ultimately, she didn't have to listen to a word they said. She would throw a cushion at his head because she knew he was right, although she never admitted that fact. She didn't need him growing smug, after all. It was just annoying to her that breaking the wheel, something she had promised to do many years ago now, was proving to be more difficult than she expected because the noble houses were perfectly comfortable with the way things were, since they were on top. She would allow them this brief time, whilst she was still adjusting to her position. But it would soon change. And she had many methods of convincing people who challenged her.

   Regardless, she had made her choice for her council a long time ago. Tyrion, having the most experience of the game they were still playing, became her official Hand. He had reluctantly accepted the position when she had offered it to him. He had argued that she should just keep Jorah in that job but his arguments always fell on deaf ears. It was a strange concept to him, having the same title his father had had. Before he killed him. He prayed that he wouldn’t meet the same fate. He had laughed at that. Who was he kidding? He was never going to have children. Lord Varys returned to his position as Master of Whispers because Daenerys could not think of anyone with an ounce as much skill in that field than him. He now spent most of his time in his office in the Keep, enjoying the scent of perfumes he had felt he would never experience again after his previous departure from this life of luxury, and doing all of her dirty work. Missandei remained as her closest female companion, moving into the room closest to the one Daenerys slept in. She still made sure to spend at least a few evenings a week with Tyrion and Varys; she could not possibly survive without their irreverent chat. 

   On the suggestion of Bruda, Marwyn was made the Grandmaester, replacing Qyburn, who had been forcibly removed from the city when he was found skulking around the dungeons in the attempt of regaining a few of his designs and inventions. The warlock was often seen sharing hot tea with his fellow old man when he wasn’t with Melisandre, that is. Not surprised by the fate of Stannis, she had quickly asked Daenerys whether she would have a place in her regime. Daenerys couldn’t have hurt the warlock if she really wanted to so had immediately agreed. The Red Woman often helped Marwyn bring his ideas to life, under the careful observation of Bruda. Davos had been proud to accept the title of Master of Ships, a role he was well suited for after his life as a smuggler. He had been warned not to continue that trait, which he had promptly nodded his head to. Daenerys knew that he would be busy though. After the rest of her army had arrived in King’s Landing, along with those who hadn’t been able to fight in the battle, Stannis’ fate had ultimately become common knowledge. The grief at his actions and demise had caused Selyse to go insane, Davos had explained, before she had taken her own life in a nearby forest on the outskirts of the city. That had left Shireen without any family, a fact that had broken Davos’ old and weary heart. He had come to visit her room one evening in which he had found her crying into her pillow. In that moment, he had made one of the easiest decisions in his life and had vowed to protect and look over her as a guardian. Shireen had never hugged someone so tightly and, in the morning, Daenerys had been more than happy to make it official. They had all been amused when the young girl asked whether that meant she would be allowed to ride the dragons more often. Another request Davos had made involved Gendry, who Daenerys thanked profusely for his involvement in the final battle. When she had stated that she owed him a favour, Davos had interrupted and inquired whether there was a place for him in the Keep. He had described how he knew the younger man and the skills he had, which was why Gendry was now employed to design new weapons for her army, even able to sit with her council when he wasn’t too busy.

   Jorah, although they all knew he was the closest thing she had to a king to stand by her side, was put in charge of the Kingsguard. It meant he would normally be in the city close to her and had one added benefit - Daenerys had found him quite dashing in his golden uniform, even if she ordered him more often than not to take it off. And Bruda...she could not find a title to suit his position. It would do him injustice to label him as just an advisor, even though that was what he did most of the time. He was just...Bruda, she had remarked one evening, and that was how it stayed.

   That meant that all the people closest to her were living in the same building. It had been the same situation at Dragonstone but, to her, this felt different. It seemed like they had finally found their place in the kingdom. The Red Keep was a warmer place as a result. Within her first week, she had ordered that the entire place should be cleaned. No more cobwebs on the walls, sunlight was able to get in through the newly cleaned windows, and the remains of dead dragons had been removed from the dungeons when she had discovered their presence. That still didn't stop stray cats from walking around the building as if they owned the place but it was a small enough nuisance for her to accept. It was now an open place for people to put forward their queries and worries. The sight of the Targaryen sigil on the walls had put people off at first but then word spread of her victories and how she had saved so many people, especially in the East. They had never expected to see a city where the two cultures clashed. Unsullied soldiers and Dothraki warriors often walked through the streets alongside Westerosi folk. There were, naturally, some initial clashes that Daenerys had to deal with but it was slowly becoming stable. There were also growing instances of them trading with one another and the Dothraki were happy to settle in a large open space outside of King’s Landing that had been uninhabited. Daenerys was able to look down upon her burgeoning kingdom with pride. Her dreams were becoming reality.

**********

   Soon after being crowned in a small ceremony with her closest advisors and a few guests from noble houses (Sansa Stark had not responded to her invitation), Jorah had told Daenerys that it was a good idea to celebrate her new reign. She had initially been against the proposition, stating that she didn't want to be flaunting her wealth when people were still suffering across the kingdom. It was the aim of her time as queen, after all, to bring the Crown closer to the people. Yet, of all the people she had expected to be in favour of a celebration, Bruda was strangely excited about it. He had explained it was a sensible decision to make, since it would give everyone an opportunity to relax and enjoy their victory after the past years of hardship. Her heart and resolve had melted as soon as she saw his hopeful smile and he had known when he saw her expression that he had finally won the argument. The only catch was that he was the one to organise it all. Jorah had looked at her in worry at that instruction, terrifying images flashing through his mind as he tried to imagine what the warlock thought was suitable for a party. 

   They were ultimately left to be surprised at the end result as they sat at the head table in the main hall of the Red Keep. A band was playing upbeat music in the corner, prompting guests to get up and dance every so often. There was a large selection of food placed all over the rows of tables from suppliers across King’s Landing and beyond. A young boy had come up to them stating how Bronn, who they hadn’t seen since the Battle of Winterfell, had contacted him with the offer to help cater the feast after Bruda somehow sent a letter to him. Daenerys thought she had heard wrong when he said his name was Hot Pie. The atmosphere was joyous. The loudest section came from the back where a few Dothraki men were tucking into plates of meat, tearing scraps off from the bone, and laughing at some of the perplexed expressions coming from the local people. Daenerys observed how happy everyone seemed to be and she realised that this was the first time in her life she had truly been happy. She had been overjoyed at the birth of her dragons. Her first kiss with Jorah was one of her fondest memories. But they had always come with the overhanging thought of what the future held. That issue still remained, naturally, but she now knew that they would face any problems as a group. She sat in between Jorah and Bruda at the long table, taking a sip of wine as she eyed the warlock, who had a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he watched the party unfold. He noticed her staring at him and arched one of his eyebrows in response.

   “What is it?” he asked as he took a bite of his chicken.

   “I’m just surprised at how well this turned out with you in charge,” she teased with a smirk. Jorah laughed by her side, enjoying Bruda’s hurt look. He held a hand to his chest, covering his heart.

   “You wound me, my Queen. Have I ever let you down before?” She pretended to think hard about it make him even more disgruntled. 

   “No, I guess not. This just doesn’t seem to be something that lends itself to your...skills.”

   “You should know by now that I’m a man full of surprises.”

   “Oh I’ve definitely realised that. Like when you managed to escape imprisonment in Meereen.” She looked at Jorah as she fondly looked back on the memory, feeling the same emotions that had welled up inside of her when she saw Jorah in the Fighting Pit.

   “I was sure that you’d forgiven us for that. Seeing as we saved you in the process.”

   “I know. That doesn’t mean I can’t use it against you from time to time.” She patted them both on the cheek in an affectionate manner. Bruda looked across the room and began to smile. Daenerys followed his eye-line and instantly knew what had brightened his mood. Melisandre had entered, wearing a more elegant version of her usual flowing red dress that the warlock had designed for her as a small gift. She had told him that she had to meet with Marwyn before the feast and would likely be late. She had given him a quick kiss when he had pouted and complained.

   “If you would please excuse me, Daenerys, Jorah. I think it’s time I moved to the dance floor.”

**********

   Further down the table sat Tyrion, Varys and Missandei who were also enjoying the festive atmosphere in the hall. It was also the first time they had been able to dress up properly for a long time. Tyrion was clad in a smart three-piece leather suit, with the badge of the Hand neatly pinned on the lapel. Varys was wearing a set of expensive robes with complex patterns running down them, the scent of perfume strong on him. Missandei had shocked them both with a very flattering black dress that matched the one Daenerys was wearing. She had glared at Tyrion when she spotted him ogling her, telling him to pick up his jaw before she closed his mouth permanently. He enjoyed a woman with a spot of fire within her. A quiet had settled amongst the trio as they enjoyed their meal, Tyrion especially, who was on his fourth glass of wine already. A servant walked past them behind the table and he asked that a jug of it be brought to him since it would save everyone time. Varys eyed him carefully.

   “Old habits die hard,” he quipped in a sardonic manner. Tyrion scrunched up his face as he took another long sip.

   “I’m allowed to enjoy myself once in a while!” he argued petulantly. “After all we’ve been through, I think I deserve a night of enjoyment without the embodiment of guilt complaining next to me.”

   “I guess that was what this event is for. Celebrating the new Queen.” Tyrion nodded his head, happy that Varys was seeing his reasoning. A bit of his wine spilled out of his glass but he didn't notice.

   “Exactly. Long may the queen rule. We’ll be all the better for it.” Varys sighed at his friend’s behaviour.

   “Did you ever think we would get to this point?” he asked as he surveyed the jubilant scene.

   “Seeing as this journey started with me living in a box whilst we sailed as wanted men to the East, my highest hopes at the time had been that I die a merciful death at the hands of sea sickness.” Missandei rolled her eyes at his melodramatic tale.

   “To be perfectly honest,” she said, adding her own thoughts to the conversation, “I never expected you to last long in her company.” Tyrion looked startled by the admission.

   “And why did you think that?”

   “Your tongue. You never hold it. I just thought that you would go too far one day and she would feed you to the dragons.”

   “I would barely make a snack for them. It would be more of a chore for them to eat me for what they would get out of it.”

   “That’s not the point. You’re lucky that you arrived at the same time as Bruda. With two people in her council saying whatever they wanted, her ire was diluted.”

   “I owe that man a drink then!” he said as he lifted up his glass in a toast. Varys glanced over at Daenerys who was smiling as she talked to a guest.

   “I always knew she was what the Realm truly needed. Popular enough for the kingdom to support her and kinder than the Lannisters so they don’t oppose her.”

   “Are you taking credit for her success?” Tyrion asked.

   “You would never have thought to work with her if it wasn’t for me. You owe  _ me _ a drink more than anyone else.”

   “So be it,” he said as the servant returned with the fresh jug. Tyrion poured the eunuch a glass, as well as refilling his and Missandei’s. “You’re going to join me this evening in what I do best - drinking and enjoying the company of a beautiful woman.” He winked at Missandei who took a much needed long sip from her glass. She stopped the servant before they left.

   “I think we’re going to need a few more jugs.”

**********

   Melisandre eyed the figure approaching her skeptically. This really wasn’t her typical scene and she felt the eyes of a number of people on her due to her unusual dress sense. She put that to the back of her mind though as she saw the adoring look in Bruda’s eyes. She smiled shyly. That wasn’t like her, to be awkward. What was this man doing to her? He took her hand, tentatively kissing her on the cheek as he did so. He still struggled with coping with their new found intimacy. Despite all of the charisma and confidence he showed, he was pretty rubbish with close relationships and voicing his feelings. She was sure that they would get there one day. She definitely wasn’t going to rush him. She was just enjoying the time they had with each other. She had never expected to survive past the war against the White Walkers and always expected that, if Stannis were to die, she would have nothing left in this part of the world. How wrong she had been.

   “You seem to have worked your magic again,” she said as she gestured to the feast. She particularly liked the bunting along the walls in the shape of dragons that seemed to twirl in the air as if they were flying. She was sure he had put a spell on them to do that.

   “Why thank you. It was nothing really. A few clicks of the fingers. A couple of well chosen words. You know how it is.” Her smile faded slightly.

   “Not exactly. I still don’t feel in control of my magic. I can’t get it to always do what I want. It has delayed Maester Marwyn a great deal at times.”

   “I’m sure he’ll understand. And if you need any assistance, I’m always a shout away.” He gently stroked the necklace she was wearing, the one he had fashioned for her back at Winterfell. He seemed to be unaware of how intimate a show of public affection it seemed to be to the wandering eye as he observed his workings. If she hadn’t have been so conscious of prying eyes, she would have laughed at his lack of understanding. “It’s working fine,” he told her, standing up straight again to look at her, not picking up on Melisandre’s accusatory look. “It’s just all up here that’s the problem.” He poked her on the forehead as he continued to explain the situation. “Your mind is telling you that you’re not accustomed to this type of magic. Which is correct, I guess. But, because of that, you don’t have the belief in yourself that you can use this magic. The more you use it, the more confident you’ll get, and the more you’ll be able to use it as a result. See. Easy. It’s as if you’re meant to grow into it eventually. You just need to practice more.”

   “And how would you suggest I do that?” she asked.

   “I can think of a few things,” he flirted. Her eyes lit up at the insinuation and he smirked at her small blush. She still wasn’t used to his quick wit and the way he used it because she had never been properly close to anyone before. 

   “Well then, if you can think of ways to do it, I’ll gladly follow your lead. Starting tonight.” His eyebrows raised at her comment.  _ Was she flirting back?  _ She was definitely getting better at this.

   “I look forward to it.” The band changed to another song and he grasped her hand again. “But first...I think it is my duty and privilege to ask the most beautiful woman here for a dance.” A deeper blush this time.

   “And it is my duty and privilege to say yes.” He grinned as he dragged her to where other people were dancing and he began to twirl her in time with the beat.

**********

   “Dragon mama!” Daenerys’ eyes widened at the exclamation. She turned in the direction of where the voice had come from and it soon made perfect sense. Tormund Giantsbane was approaching the high table after entering the room, picking up a glass from the table that may or may not have been someone else’s and downing it in one. Jon Snow was awkwardly walking behind him, sending a sheepish smile towards the queen. Daenerys had sent a letter of invitation to the new wildling leader soon after the idea had been suggested. It was not just because of their shared victory in the North but also down to her hopes of working closely with them, even if their homelands didn't fall under her rule. She smiled at the boisterous member of the Free Folk.

   “It is very good to see you too,” she greeted, a slight laugh in her voice. “I’m surprised you could make the trip down to see us all.”

   “We couldn’t let down the woman who rides dragons like they are horses!” Tormund bellowed. People were beginning to look. 

   “We thought it was the least we could do after all we went through together,” Jon said with a soft smile. Daenerys doubted that was the only reason. She remembered what his sister had said about his feelings towards her. He probably still hoped that going through all this effort would convince her that he was an eligible option.

   “How are the wildlings all doing?” Jorah asked. Jon was broken from his looking at Daenerys. She’d have to remember to thank her love for that.

   “They’re settling as well as we hoped. It’s been a long time since they were properly in the wild. They’ve been given food since moving south rather than hunting for themselves so it’s taking them a while to get back into the rhythm.”

   “What’s it been like with the Night’s Watch?” Daenerys asked. Tyrion had brought up its future with its purpose now nullified after the White Walkers’ defeat.

   “They’ve been working better with us than they used to. Some of the new recruits are understandably cautious with interacting with the wildlings because they’ve never had to before. They’re just running out of things to do.”

   “Please,” Tormund interrupted. “They’ve been there for years without ever knowing the White Walkers existed. They can carry on. There are still creatures out there in the wilderness that have to be stopped from wreaking havoc in your pretty little communities.”

   “Exactly. And I’m sure if you work together more, the whole process will become more efficient,” Daenerys put forward.

   “We can’t implement too many changes at once,” Jon countered. “Even those who thought in the war are resistant to improvements. I don’t understand it at times.” He sighed but then smiled again. “It’s just another challenge to face. And I’m sure you’re facing new issues every day.”

   “It’s only just beginning. Speaking of such...have you had word from your sister?”

   “Very little. There’s been the occasional story filtering through to us. She’s been meeting with the Northern families, testing the waters with the idea of independence. Some are saying that she already has the support of Bear Island.” Jorah’s face paled as they looked at him.

   “It’ll be that Littlefinger,” he said. “He was the one who manipulated Lyanna, the head of the family, when we searched for their support.”

   “She has always said she is fully behind the Starks. It isn’t just Littlefinger. Some of the smaller families are positive about the idea because they rely on Winterfell.”

   “I’ll just have to persuade them otherwise,” Daenerys said with a scowl. Her mood brightened as she saw Bruda moving along with the music. “But for now, I think Jorah here owes me a dance.” His eyes widened as she stood up, grabbing his hand. “Please eat as much as you can and enjoy the evening.” She focused mainly on Tormund as she said that. “And I’m sure Davos will like to see you when you’re free.” Jon nodded his head as he watched them join the other couples dancing.

**********

   Gendry eyed the Red Woman carefully as she swayed in Bruda’s arms with a large smile on her face. He had seen her walking around the Keep a couple of times but she apparently hadn’t seen him yet doing the same. He couldn’t believe someone who had tortured him was allowed to be in this place. He would never be able to forget what she had done to him, the fear he had felt when she put those leeches on him one that would never fully dissipate. He didn't think he would ever be able to trust her, regardless of what anyone else said. Even if she did seem different now. Davos spotted him staring whilst he was having a conversation with Shireen at the head table. She’d been very excited at the prospect of sitting at what she deemed the ‘most important table’. Her eyes had gone wide at the amount of food on display, never seeing anything as extravagant at Dragonstone. He knew what Gendry would be thinking and he knew he had to stop those kind of thoughts before he did anything rash. He had harboured such thoughts for a long time too, after all.

   “She’s a changed woman,” he pointed out, breaking the young man from his concentration. Gendry sent him a questioning glance. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been glaring at her for the past five minutes.”

   “How can you know she’s truly changed? That’s her skill - ingratiating herself with people so they don’t suspect the horrible things she’s capable of.”

   “I understand the torment you went through…”

   “Do you though? You weren’t there when she tricked me. She never did the same to you.”

   “But I saw her doing the same to Stannis. How do you think I felt watching him fall for her charm, knowing that any fears I put forward would be quickly dismissed because she had her claws deep in him.”

   “That’s not the same,” he said bitterly.

   “No. No, it’s not. I can see that. But by knowing what she was like back then, I can tell how different she truly is now.”

   “Why would she change?”

   “Because of him,” Davos answered, gesturing towards Bruda, who was laughing as he twirled Melisandre. “He made her believe in something other than that Lord of Light nonsense. He showed her that the way she was going would lead to her death and he saved her when she was on the brink. Trust me, I had my reservations at first when she started joining us in our meetings. But we’ve now shared conversations, not all of them pleasant, and I am willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Not just because she might do better. Just look at the smile on his face. I could never take that from him.” Gendry looked down at the table, picking at his food.

   “It’s going to take some time to get used to,” he mumbled.

   “I’d be surprised if it didn't.” He let out a sigh as he looked over at him. “But any issues you have with her, you take them to me first. Then I’ll either sort it out or speak to Bruda about it. Under no circumstances are you to do anything as rash or foolish as confronting either of them about it. Because that smile he’s wearing will quickly disappear and you’ll be a dead man before you can finish your sentence.” Gendry nodded his head in fear, having first hand experience of what the warlock was capable of. “Now then, this is meant to be a celebration. So start eating, put a smile on your face, and enjoy yourself.” Davos turned back to Shireen, who innocently attempted to pretend that she hadn’t been listening to their conversation. He ruffled her hair at her antics. He ducked his head and whispered to her. “I think we need to find him a woman to calm him down, don’t you think?” She nodded her head in excitement at the prospect of that task.

**********

   Daenerys enjoyed being in Jorah’s arms as they swayed to a slower song, even if he didn't really know what he was doing. That just added to his endearing charm, she thought, as she smiled up at him. He nervously grinned back at her as he concentrated on not standing on her feet. He was a much larger person than her which meant his legs were longer and more prone to getting tangled. That had been his fear, anyway, when she had asked him to dance. When Bruda had mentioned that he was hiring a band, his mind had instantly gone to this issue. He had never danced before. It wasn’t a talent you needed in the North and his wife had hardly ever been interested in the pass-time. He had known Daenerys would want to dance though. So, without anyone knowing, he had practiced moving in front of a mirror in their room when she hadn’t been there. The very thought of it had been extremely embarrassing but, so far, it was paying off, judging by the warm and happy look she was sending him. He was quite proud to be the one who was causing her to smile.

   To be truthful, Daenerys had caught him dancing in front of the mirror on one occasion, although he didn't know about it. It had been simultaneously one of the funniest yet most heartwarming scenes she had ever seen, knowing that he was doing it only for her. She hadn’t even mentioned dancing but he had known her too well to expect anything different. She truly loved the man holding her and wanted to be able to say it to him everyday. And, for once in her life, she knew that was a possibility. They shared a laugh as they watched the other people around them dancing. There was Bruda, with his cloak billowing behind him as he did more elaborate turns the longer the night wore on. Davos was clumsily leading Shireen, who was standing on his feet as he moved around, her giggles audible for everyone to hear. Tyrion was dancing on his own, banging his head to some form of music that didn't match the sort being played by the band. And Tormund was doing some form of tribal dance, which was terrifying the women in his vicinity, although he was mistaking their looks of confusion as invitations to dance closer to them. Daenerys looked back at Jorah, catching him staring at him. He looked away with a blush on his cheeks.

   “What?” she asked.

   “You seem to be enjoying yourself.” That didn't resemble an answer to her question. She narrowed her eyes at him but let him off.

   “Of course I am. I’m with you after all.” He took her by surprise as he twirled her, causing her to put a hand on her chest as she came back level with him. “And you’re doing spectacularly well at this.”

   “A man can only be as good as his partner,” he said, trying to dodge her compliment.

   “Hmm. If I was one to guess things, I would say you’ve been practicing.” For a short moment, his eyes widened at her words but he quickly controlled his expression.

   “Don’t be absurd.” But then he saw her mischievous grin and knew what had happened. “You saw me, didn't you?” She shrugged her shoulders.

   “Saw you do what?” she asked innocently. “All I know is that whatever you were doing is incredibly sweet and I’m very grateful for everything. Not just this. For getting me to this moment. None of this would have been possible without you. I’d be dead in some Dothraki field or locked away somewhere in Qarth. So, what I’m saying is...thank you. You will never know how much you mean to me.” He smiled warmly at her.

   “You’re very welcome. And thank you. You saved something more than my life. My soul.” She smiled as he twirled her once again as they danced deep into the evening.

**********

   Night was now laying claim to the kingdom as guests filtered out of the Keep to travel back home or to nearby inns. As the hall emptied, Jorah had asked Daenerys whether she was going to come back to their room but she had told him that she wanted to wait a little bit longer and that she would meet him there eventually. She had wanted to take the opportunity to go outside on the closest balcony and look upon her city as the stars came out. She had taken a fascination to them ever since her conversation about them with Bruda at Dragonstone. It was one of her favourite things to do now. She held her dress tight to keep herself warm as the wind pulled at her blonde hair. She looked up at the Keep where she Drogon had caused damage. Work had already begun on fixing the walls but she knew it was a difficult job that would take a while, even with Bruda around. She didn't exactly need the throne room now anyway since it was gone, removed within a day of her reign and melted down further to make into new weapons. Gendry’s eyes had lit up when it was delivered to him. Her focus turned to the city, looking at the lights that were still on in some of the buildings and how they seemed to mirror the stars above. In the distance, she could make out the old fighting pit that Tyrion had suggested she visit, which she had done a few days ago. After seeing the ruins, she had vowed to build up again. Not so that the sport could start again but so that she could remember her family’s heritage. It also acted as a perfect spot for her dragons to land and sleep without damaging any houses. Those fears had already been brought up by several members of the public.

   “It’s rather cold out here, don’t you think?” She almost jumped at the recognisable voice but managed to stop herself, not wanting to show him that he had scared her. She turned her head to look behind her as Bruda slowly approached, his staff back in his hand after he had abandoned it during the feast.

   “Which is why I’m worried that a man of your age is out here.” He rolled his eyes. She was getting far too good at this teasing game they often played. She grinned at him as he came up beside her, leaning on the wall like she was doing.

   “Why are you out here all alone?” he asked, looking at her carefully. He was far too protective, she thought.

   “Thinking.”

   “Care to elaborate?” She looked back at the city as she got a hold of thoughts.

   “It still doesn’t seem real. All of this.” She gestured to King’s Landing and the Keep behind them.

   “That’s only natural. You’ve been striving for this for so long. Not many people get to achieve their life’s goals.”

   “Did you? What were your aspirations growing up? Were you ever young?”

   “Of course I was! And very dashing too, I might add.”

   “You still are,” she said as she nudged him with her shoulder.

   “I don’t know. We all have dreams, some more foolish than others. With my powers, I could dream bigger than anyone else. But, when I think about it, I didn't. I wanted to fall in love, which I did.”

   “Twice now.” He widened his eyes but then slowly nodded his head.

   “Don’t tell her I agreed to that.”

   “My lips are sealed.”

   “But, most importantly, I wanted to live a life full of adventure. I didn't want a day to go by without something...momentous happening. As a young boy, momentous meant seeing wonderful things and accomplishing extraordinary feats of power and exploration. But, as I grew older, it took a different meaning. That word ‘momentous’...even just having a conversation with those you are close to falls under its bracket. Sharing wonderful moments with them is what life is truly about and why I have lived so long. Because I know more of those moments are in my future. How could I miss out on those?”

   “So you know that there’s more to come? How?”

   “It’s just a feeling we all have. Deep down within us.”

   “I just get the sense that...after working so hard to get this...this is where I end up. This is where my story will end, eventually.” He grabbed his staff and pushed away from the wall.

   “Oh Daenerys,” he said, beginning to walk away. “You don’t think that. Let me tell you something you need to remember. This story is only just beginning.” She watched as he walked away, thinking about his words. He was right. Plenty more adventures awaited her, maybe not as dangerous as the ones she had already experienced. But that didn't matter. All she cared about was what mysteries that warlock had in store for her in the future.


End file.
